Mourir pour la danse
by L3af Con3yb3ar
Summary: Things seem great for Kurt Hummel, a dancer at the New York City Ballet, after being cast as Odette, the delicate white swan, in the new production of Swan Lake. However, he slowly slips into madness as he becomes more like the black swan, Odile.
1. Part I

**Title: **Mourir pour la danse

**Author: **L3af Con3yb3ar

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **AU, OOC, Explicit Sexual Content, Dub-Con, Crude Language, Cross-dressing, Graphic Violence, Character Deaths

**Characters: **Kurt Hummel, Noah Puckerman, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Jesse St. James, Mike Chang, and others

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Black Swan, Glee, Swan Lake_, or anything affiliated.

**Part One**

_Once upon a time, in a far away land, a young, lonely boy would spend his nights in the forest, dancing. As he danced in the clearing on one particular night, when the full moon was out, illuminating the dark blue lake, he noticed he was being watched by a handsome, older knight: Baron von Rothbart._

_Frightened, he attempted to run away from the strange man but the knight warmly greeted the boy, already smitten with him. He offered his hand and the two danced for hours._

_The naïve boy already found himself falling for the knight._

_As the night progressed, Rothbart lured the young man into a cave, before suddenly morphing into a frightful creature: half-man and half-vulture. This was no knight. This was a sorcerer._

_Rothbart cast a spell on the boy, turning him into a beautiful white swan, a symbol of beauty and purity. The boy would remain his tortured captive for eternity, suffering as a beautiful white swan by day… but at night, turn back into a boy…_

* * *

><p>Blue eyes snapped open and the curtains in front of the window, blocking the sun, made a line of light on the form in the queen-sized bed. The clock on the nightstand read 6:59.<p>

Kurt Hummel took in his familiar surroundings, moving a pale hand to his face to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. He had soft, handsome, innocent features, longing for approval…behind that: insecurity.

Various stuffed animals sat in the corner of the room, looking back at him. His room looked like it belonged to an 8-year-old girl, lots of pink and certainly not very normal for an adult male. He lay perfectly still until…

_Beep, beep, beep…_

He moved his hand over to the alarm clock, which read 7:00, and tapped the top of it. He turned to the other side of the bed where the covers were pushed back. Sadly shaking his head, Kurt swung his legs off of the mattress, his feet hovering over the hardwood floor for a moment before sliding into a pair of house slippers and moving into the adjoining bathroom.

The lithe dancer had been a part of the New York City ballet company for four years after moving to the city from Lima, Ohio, with his much older step-brother and roommate, Finn Hudson.

In their living room, which consisted only of a couch in the corner, a full-length mirror, a ballet barre mounted on a wall, which he and his brother had installed together, a hardwood floor and a few homely décor, the dancer sat stretched out on the floor. Despite his beauty, his feet were atrocious—full of blisters and sores—albeit common for a ballet dancer.

He gracefully stretched his arms above his head in a rhythmic motion, contracting his legs and feet in a precise movement. He was focused with an intense gaze, striving to perfect it.

Suddenly self-conscious, he stopped his dancing and turned to the archway where Finn watched him with a cold expression. The other man wordlessly tore his tense eyes away from blue ones and walked down the hallway.

With a huff and an uneasy pain in his chest, Kurt dropped onto his bottom and removed the ballet shoes from his feet. He was one of the few males in the company who danced en pointe.

"I had the craziest dream last night…" Kurt called out to Finn in a shaky voice as he pulled the sleeves of the loose sweater falling off his shoulders before playing with the bang of his hair. "I danced the part of the Swan Prince… in the prologue where he's enchanted by Rothbart."

He received an indifferent 'hmm' in reply. "Kurt, you know I barely know anything about that ballet stuff." His brother was in the kitchen, slicing fruit and dropping them into the blender with cups of yogurt. The bacon and pancakes on the stove began sizzling and he rushed over to it. "Shit!" He quickly began turning down the gas before the food burned anymore.

"I know—I just thought I'd share. In fact, it was different choreography…sort of like Matthew Bourne's but it followed the original story more—

"Kurt."

"Sorry." A momentary silence… "_I was perfect…_" he said, more so to his reflection, almost accepting that maybe, Finn just didn't care.

"Are you coming to eat or what?"

Kurt flinched at the tone in his brother's voice, "I'm really not that hungry." He picked up a towel and dabbed at the sweat on his forehead, then stood and entered the kitchen. He watched Finn put three pancakes, drenched in syrup on to a plate. "Finn, please don't make so much for me."

Finn pretended not to listen to him and added a few pieces of bacon.

"I don't think my stomach can handle all of-

His voice was drowned out by the buzzing of the blender. "Just eat what you can. You're skinny enough already."

The brunette nodded as if he were a child who was just scolded by an adult. His stomach churned in dismay and he picked up the fork, his eyes cast downward as Finn placed a glass of the fruit and yogurt smoothie in front of him.

Thankful that Finn hadn't punched him already, Kurt decided to push his luck, "So, I've been practicing a lot lately. Do you think Noah might cast me as a principle this time in the next production? I'm one of the best dancers they have but—

"I think you should stop worrying about what that prick thinks of you," Finn snapped. Now, he was just annoyed.

Kurt stared wide-eyed at him, obviously a bit hurt. Was that resentment toward him or his teacher? He proceeded to cut into his pancakes. "I was just asking. He promised to feature me more."

"I don't know—part of show-business is rejection. Maybe that might change this season," Kurt gratefully looked up into dark eyes, "Like you said, you're the best dancer he has. And you've been there long enough." The darker-haired man shrugged as he sat down across from him.

It seemed genuine enough, and then again his brother hardly ever gave him such a compliment anymore, so Kurt nodded.

"Burt and mom would be proud of you."

Finn received a sad smile in reply as Kurt's eyes diverted toward a family portrait on the wall behind Finn's head: An almost younger Finn and Kurt, with a nearly balding man standing beside Kurt, his arm place around his shoulder. Seated before them was a woman with brown, curly hair. All of them were dressed in black. Each face held a smile.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Kurt's attention snapped away from the picture and to his brother.

"No, I'll be fine."

"If you're sure."

"I thought you had that thing in the East Village later on."

"The art fair."

"Yeah."

A shrug, "I don't think that's going to work out," Finn continued, shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth, "I walked in with my portfolio and before I could show them any of it they laughed me out of the room."

"I'm sorry, Finn," Kurt said, moving his hand toward his brother's, who retracted his and scooted away from the table and began walking toward the hallway. He said it himself, 'part of show business was rejection.'

"It's whatever. Good luck today at your ballet," he stopped at the, "Make sure you eat all of that. And don't get home too late."

Kurt nodded and watched Finn leave the kitchen. He attempted to peer out into the hallway after him. Once he heard an audible _click_—Finn was very adamant in keeping his door lock, as it was where he did most of his work—Kurt stood and picked up the plate, throwing its contents into the trash bin next to the counter. He opened the refrigerator door and took an egg out of its carton, then cracked it with a fork and began eating the yolk inside.

Today would be a _long_ day.

* * *

><p>Headphones in his ears with soft Tchaikovsky resounding through them, Kurt carefully eyed his faint reflection on the window door of the train. He lifted a hand to fix whatever imperfection he could find in his hair. On the other track, another train started passing. He peered through the window and saw a man with raven black hair, headphones in his ears. Kurt watched him a moment but lifted his head toward the intercom as the conductor made an announcement.<p>

His gaze returned to the man, who raised his hand to mess with his hair, on the passing train again but he was startled to find that this time the man looked…exactly him? The cart made a sharp jolt and a heavy man standing next to him collided into his shoulder. He icily glared at Kurt.

"Sorry," the petite brunet said, rubbing his shoulder and watching as the express train kept moving forward. His train started coming to a stop. The doors behind him opened and he, along with some others, got off.

He emerged from the underground subway station onto the city street and wrapped himself tighter in his baby blue pea coat.

"Hey!" He turned his head and lifted a hand, smiling slightly. Another ballet dancer jogged toward him, then passed him to catch up with someone else a few feet away. The two walked a few paces ahead of him and were soon joined by another dancer. Kurt listened as they began chattering before one turned back to look at him.

He diverted his eyes to the sidewalk and made no move to join them.

As they approached Lincoln Center, more and more dancers, men and women, assembled toward the entrance. The three dancers ahead of Kurt were joined by a few more, their conversation growing more animated.

Kurt turned to the posters that aligned the walls, each one a picture of Rachel Berry, the company's prima ballerina, in her iconic _Swan Lake_ role.

He deeply sighed with some jealousy. 'That will be me soon enough,' Kurt vowed. He then spotted Rachel walking further ahead and a wave of relief washed over him. He immediately shot a hand in the air, "Rachel!"

The brunette girl turned her head both directions, searching for the source of the voice and her eyes landed on Kurt. She smiled and waited for him to catch up. She was an older woman, slightly jaded and overly confident. Her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun and she wrapped her coat around herself tighter and reached out to hug Kurt. The other boy grinned.

"So?" he said as they started walking—Rachel walked with a higher-status and confidence, the exact opposite of Kurt.

"So, what?"

"So, how was it?"

"How was what?"

"Rachel…" he whined, giving her a pointed look.

"Sorry," she rolled her eyes and smiled, then replied, "It was all right."

"Just all right?" he asked, "How can _Italy_ just be all right?" he adjusted the strap of his bag around his shoulder and beckoned for her to continue. However, she self-consciously looked at the other dancers.

"I don't think I can talk about it…not now."

"Oh," he said, a little disappointed, "Okay, well, can we meet up after rehearsal?" Rachel bit her lip and looked away. "Unless you two have plans…"

She turned back to him and said, "We don't."

"Great, then we can go to that new tea cafe. I'd love to hear more about your trip."

Rachel nodded and followed him up the steps leading to the stage door. She seemed a bit off, as far as Kurt could tell, and he normally _could _tell if something was up with her. "Okay, something's wrong."

"What?"

Kurt shrugged his shoulders, "Is everything okay?" he asked, stopping in front of her. Before she could answer, a group of older men and women rushed up to her, clamoring for an autograph. They excitedly surrounded her—and Kurt noted that their fandom lied somewhere between doting mother and serial stalker.

Kurt was pushed out of the circle. By the looks of it, though, Rachel didn't seem to mind. He watched with envy as she gracefully signed posters and other pieces of paper, batting her eyelashes and offering "thank yous" as they fed her compliments.

"I'll see you inside!"

Either she didn't hear him or she pretended not to. He decided it was the former and turned to go inside.

* * *

><p>Kurt entered the cramped dressing room, fit for the soloist dancers, and put his bag in a chair in front of a mirror. Another dancer, the confident, but icy Jesse St. James, applied a bit of eye-liner. "Hi, Jesse," Kurt greeted.<p>

Jesse ignore him.

The other seven dancers were getting ready for rehearsal, applying make-up, changing clothes, fixing shoes, etc, and Kurt started taking off his street clothes.

"Did you see Rachel today?" a dancer, Wes, said, "I can't believe she's back."

"Of course she's back," Jesse replied, rolling his eyes and fixing his hair, "I mean, can't she take a hint? The company's broke; _no_ one comes to see her anymore."

Kurt, ignoring the gossip, took out his new pointe slippers and started breaking them in, pulling out the cardboard shank inside and burning the tips of the satin laces.

"You think it's her last season?"

"Fingers crossed," another dancer, Jeff, replied.

A boy named Sebastian piped up as Kurt cut the slippers with a pair of scissors, "I just think she needs to try something new."

"No, the company needs _someone_ new," Jesse said.

"Like?"

"Like someone who isn't approaching menopause." Laughter, "Giselle…" Jesse scoffed, "Are you fucking kidding me? She looked like my mother up there."

"More like grandmother," Wes said.

Furious, Kurt began banging his slipper onto the floor. One annoyed Jesse St. James turned to him with a fixed glare. "Are we bothering you?" The other boy looked up at him, embarrassed, and to the others, then back to Jesse. He silently shook his head. "Are you sure? You don't have something to say?"

"It's sad…"

"What's sad?"

_Your jealousy_. He put down the slippers and placed his hands in his lap. "I think Rachel's a beautiful dancer," he said with a shrug.

Jesse scoffed and rolled his eyes, then turned back to the mirror. "Of course you do." Kurt's hands started to tremble as he grew tense, his eyes fixated on Jesse's _stupid_ hair. Maybe it'd catch fire. "She only tolerates you because you kiss her ass." After that jab, his eyes returned to the floor.

Jeff said, "Come on, Jesse."

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Jesse turned around and snapped his fingers in Kurt's direction, demanding his attention. Once he had it: "Like the pretty girl who hangs out with the _fat_ girl."

Kurt's heart dropped.

Another male, ear buds in his ears and still in street clothes, rushed into the room, out of breathe. He looked to Kurt. "Soloists?" The other dancers watched him. Kurt nodded at the man—who almost resembled him—he smiled and said, "Great, thanks." He further entered the dressing room, pulling off his bag. "I fucking missed my stop. If someone told me the difference between express and local before that…" He inspected an empty dressing-room table next to Wes. "Is this one taken?"

Kurt stopped listening only to stare at the man some more. He _had_ seen him before…on the train. Yet the similarity was uncanny. "I'm Blaine," the raven-haired man said as Kurt proceeded to pack his slippers into his bag, watching Jesse eye the new pretty-boy up and down.

Disgusted, he stood with a huff and left the dressing room.

* * *

><p>The entire company—men, women, and a few still-pubescent corps dancers—spread out in several even rows across the room, stood beside ballet barres, warming up. Anonymous, near the back of the room, Kurt went through his warm-up moves, concentrating on perfecting each pose, each movement.<p>

Legs… arms… hands… feet… all moving together in unison as the female dance teacher lead them through the exercises, tapping her cane onto the floor: "To the back, fondue, to the back, plie…"

Kurt watched himself in the mirror, and then he felt a tap on his shoulder, "Hey, Kurt." He turned to the blonde girl behind him, Brittany. She whispered: "Speaking of fondue, you should totally check out my web-show, 'Fondue For Two'. This week, Lord Tubbington and I will be performing selections from _Cats_."

"No talking!" the teacher ordered, her voice rising, "Focus, you two!" She proceeded to take the dancers through the warm-ups.

Kurt bit his lip and whispered, "I'll be sure to check it out, Brittany, if you try not to get me into trouble again." She smiled, pleased with his answer. Kurt turned back to his reflection in the mirror, focusing on precising his movements. The instructor approached him and rubbed his shoulder.

"Beautiful, Kurt, but it needs to be looser. Not so controlled." He nodded, suddenly feeling insecure. Suddenly, the girls around him began stripping off their sweatshirts and heavy clothing. He looked up.

By the entrance stood the brooding, almost intimidating director of the company, Noah Puckerman—Puck to his friends. He had a slightly shaven, intense look about him. The look of an artist.

Magnetic and alluring to both men and women.

The dancers proceeded to take off their warm-up gear, showing off their bodies, as Puck walked around the room, judgmentally surveying each one. He touched a few of them on their shoulders, correcting movements.

Rachel watched him with a particularly concentrated gaze. The music from the piano stopped. "Good morning, everyone." They responded, nervous and unsure. "I hope you all enjoyed your break. This season, we open with an all new production of the classic _Swan Lake_." He glanced at Rachel, who immediately looked away to the other soloists. Kurt caught the exchange. "And an all new production begins with a new Odette."

The room erupted into gasps and hushed whispers. Jesse, in particular, slyly raised an eyebrow and smirked at Blaine beside him. Puck made a signal toward the piano player, Brad. The dancers picked up where they left off in their warm-ups as Puck proceeded to move around the room, placing a hand on every other soloist's shoulder.

"A fresh face to present to the world," Puck continued, watching Rachel, "Odette is vulnerable…never known love… An innocent creature. Not proud. Not vain." Kurt watched her as well, searching for a reaction. She turned to him with an annoyed glare. Kurt looked away.

"Lord Tubbington almost ruptured a vein practicing 'Macavity' last night," Brittany whispered to Kurt. He faced her, actually unsure of _how _to react to that. The other dancers behind her shushed her. His eyes returned to the spot where Rachel stood. She was gone.

Puck continued moving past each row of dancers, correcting mistakes in certain dancers' movements. Placing a hand on one soloist and then bypassing another. He walked past Blaine and Jesse.

Kurt tried to look away as Puck neared, yet his eyes kept returning to the toned man, finally settling into the pair of beautiful hazel eyes. He watched, hopeful. Puck glanced at him a moment. Kurt nearly melted at the proximity of how close he'd gotten. Close enough to see the stubble of hair under his nose, on his cheek, around his pink, parted lips, and close enough to smell the faint scent of cologne and musk.

He deflated as Puck walked by without tapping him.

The music continued for a bit as Puck tapped a few more soloists. He then moved to the front of the room and signaled for Brad to stop.

"Very good." He paused. "All of the soloists I touched, you will remain here and continue rehearsal with the rest of the company."

Confused chatter amongst the company.

"The five who I didn't touch, will meet with me in Studio 82 after the break." Kurt grinned to himself and felt Brittany wrap her arms around him from behind.

The music resumed.

* * *

><p>In the hallway, Kurt sat alone in a corner with his eyes closed, practicing on perfecting the arm movements of the white swan's variation. The sound of glass breaking and a shriek startled him and within seconds he was onto his feet.<p>

Around the corner, he spotted a dressing room door, slightly open, Rachel's name card on the door. He watched from the outside as a flower vase hit the mirror, shattering before smashing on onto the floor.

"Fuck! Fucking bastard!" Inside, Rachel ransacked the room, throwing chairs, ripping down posters and cloth from the walls. "Fuck you! _Fuck you!" _After kicking over a chair and tossing picture frames at the mirror, she finally emerged from the room, her bag slung over her arm. She turned on Kurt, bellowing "_What the fuck are you looking at?"_ before storming off, not even waiting to see how he'd react. Terrified, Kurt watched her leave, wondering if the exchange with Puck was what brought this on.

Maybe Jesse was right about their relationship…

He turned toward the door as it creaked open a little. Figuring Rachel wouldn't be back anytime soon, he decided to venture inside, where the prima donna had certainly done some extensive damage. He moved a bit closer to her vanity mirror, noticing the wallet-sized picture of Puck.

He touched it, obviously a bit smitten with his dance teacher. Deciding that Rachel would no longer want it, he took the picture off of the mirror and placed it inside his sweatpants pocket.

He continued to touch little things on her table, pens, a make-up kit, until his fingers landed on a small tube of lipstick. He popped the cap off, staring in awe at its reddish-burgundy color. He watched the dressing room door, placing the cap back onto the tube, then sneaking it into his pocket.

He quickly scurried out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Inside a slightly smaller dance-studio, Kurt watched with the others from the side as Jeff danced the Act II variation, his audition in progress. He seemed to flow throughout the room, elegantly, even if aware of the many pairs of eyes watching him, judging him, especially Puck, who stood in the middle of the room, a hand to his chin. He lifted it.<p>

"Stop." Displeased, he shook his head. Unimpressed, he waved Jeff away, signaling for him to pack up and leave. "Odette is forever a swan. Completely trapped and you're…smiling?"

Jeff glanced away, raising his eyebrows, "I'm sorry."

"Just…_go_. Kurt, you're up."

Kurt gasped, suddenly aware of the other dancers watching him. He stood and moved to the center of the room, his eyes trying to avoid Puck's. "Let me see some fear when you dance, okay? Don't hide it." He nodded. The music began.

Kurt began dancing the variation from Act II, his nervousness adding some depth and character to his movement, meshing well with the role. While precise, there was vulnerability. Tortured. And longing. Exactly how the role of the white swan should be danced. Impressed: "Okay, good!" The music stopped as Puck's voice brought Kurt out of his trance. "That was very beautiful, Kurt."

Approval_…finally,_ "Thank you,"he smiled.

Puck approached him from behind and placed both his hands on the brunet's slim waist. Kurt turned toward him, "No, Kurt. Face yourself. In the mirror. Do you want this?" He whispered lowly so no one else in the room but Kurt could hear him: "Do you want the role?"

Silent, Kurt stared at his reflection and blinked, for a moment believing he'd just seen himself smirk and caress Puck's hands. "I—

"Are you scared?"

"I'm just a little nervous," Kurt confessed, his voice shaky, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Fear is good. Fear is a sign of desire," Puck said, turning Kurt's pale face toward him while tightening his grip on his waist. "Do you want this?" Kurt wasn't sure if he was talking about the role now.

Kurt nodded, "If you want me to be—

"Answer me straight," Puck said, "Be honest."

_Yes_.

"What?"

"Yes…I-I do. More than _anything_."

"If I were casting the Swan Prince based just on your dancing here, alone, the role would be yours," Puck said, leaning in closer to Kurt, his lips inches away from his cheek.

"Really?" Flattered, Kurt said, "Thank you."

"But I'm not," Puck snapped, turning Kurt's attention back to the mirror, and walked away from him, "There's also the black swan. The darker half," he smirked at Jesse, "The evil twin, Odile. The character is bold and seductive. _Unafraid_. That's where the real challenge lies."

Kurt once again felt self-conscious, knowing all eyes were on him. The role was his to claim…or lose.

Puck continued: "To master this, you must have the ability to seduce Prince Siegfried…and seduce the audience." He waved to the piano player, "Odile's Act III coda, please." An upbeat piano instrumental began. An intimidated, Kurt started taking the first few steps before launching into the show's most difficult and famous part of Odile's Pas de Deux: the thirty-two consecutive fouettes.

However, his movements were very stiff and mechanical.

"I want to see passion, Kurt!" Puck shouted, "Confidence! You're seducing us. Don't try and control it. Seduce us, damn it! The Prince, the corps, the audience, the _world. _Don't just _do_ the turns!" He grew more irate. "You look like a scared little boy, longing for daddy's approval!"

If Kurt wasn't already frustrated, _that_ low blow did it and his face showed. Puck couldn't have known—but that didn't make the criticism any less wounding.

The music started building in intensity as he pushed himself, growing more and more fearful and frustrated each turn. He continued into each spin "Attack it!" _Spin, _"Attack it!" _Spin, _"Attack it!" _Spin, _"_Attack it_!" _Spin, _"Come on!" The sound of a door bursting open threw him off and he stumbled, and if he'd landed anymore wrong he would have twisted an ankle. The music stopped.

His focus faltered and his eyes landed on the entrance. Blaine stood there, aware of his tardiness and the faces turned his way. "Sorry."

Puck spoke up, "So nice of you to join us," he folded his arms, "Everyone, this is Blaine Anderson, from San Francisco. He'll be filling in Sam's old spot."

"Hi,"

"Get warmed up," Puck ordered as Blaine walked past him to join the rest of the soloists.

"No, it's okay," he said, smirking back at Puck, "I'm good."

Kurt timidly spoke up, "Sh—should I go again?"

"No," Puck shook his head and waved him off, "Thank you, I've seen enough. Jesse, you're up next. The white swan variation please."

Kurt sadly walked over to the wall, where the rest of the soloists sat, and pulled his bag over his shoulder. Blaine stripped himself of his coat, accidentally bumping his elbow into Kurt's shoulder, "Sorry…"

As if burned, he glared at Blaine and then left the room, sadly wiping the tears from his eyes while the ache in his throat grew more and more. Once outside, he broke down. He could hear the same music playing from inside. He peered through the glass window, watching as Jesse handled the intense movement with ease, feeling confident and superior, and Puck watching him as if he'd pounce on him in any minute.

Envious, Kurt's face hardened and his breath hitched. He walked away.

Inside a bathroom stall, Kurt emptied whatever he had in his stomach into the toilet bowl, tears streaming down his puffy cheeks. He lifted a foot to push the knob, flushing the acidic chunks down. He sat down on the seat and began unlacing his slippers, stopping every second to wipe his eyes with a sleeve.

Puck would pick Jesse and, once again, Kurt would spend the duration of the run in the shadow of another dancer. What would his dead parents think of him right now?

He ultimately decided to place the blame on that pretty-boy who'd barged in when Kurt was already feeling vulnerable. _He_ was the reason Kurt choked. _He _was the reason Jesse would be dancing the lead role in _Swan Lake. _And worst of all: the reason Puck now saw him as a disappointment. A _weak, scared little boy._

"I _am _weak..." Puck's words caused his tears to flow faster, so he rested his face in his hands, and bawled.

* * *

><p>Kurt placed his key into the apartment door's keyhole, turning the lock and then the knob before stepping inside. The lights in the living room were off.<p>

"Finn?" He dropped his keys into the basket near the door and shut it, unbuttoning his coat and removing the scarf from his neck. He flipped on the light switch, "Finn, are you home?" he called out again. He heard some shuffling behind a door in the hallway before it opened. Finn emerged, dressed in a black wife-beater and pajama-bottoms and carrying a half-eaten bowl of cereal.

"Hey, you're back."

Kurt nodded, "Yeah."

"How'd it go?" suddenly feeling humiliated again, Kurt shrugged his shoulders. He hung his coat onto the coat hook. "Is everything all right?"

Kurt shook his head before stepping forward. "He, uhm…"

"Aww…shit." Finn placed his bowl on the table and wrapped his arms around Kurt. "I knew this would happen," the younger boy's body began convulsing with sobs as he buried his nose into Finn's shoulder, completely falling apart in front of him. "It's okay."

"No…"

"Shhh…It'll be okay."

"I'm so ashamed…!" Kurt's hands gripped the back of Finn's shirt, all of his feelings from earlier once again pouring out. He had wanted this _so badly. _At least this time, he had the comfort of another person. His brother. Finn stroked his hair, slowly rocking him. "And he wouldn't even let me finish…"

"How about I make you some warm milk?"

Kurt didn't see Finn grinning the entire time.

* * *

><p>Kurt re-laced the ribbons on his pointe slippers, watching his reflection in the mirror. He would perfect this even if it <em>killed<em> him. That or he'd lie to Puck tomorrow and tell him he finished it…and then ask him for the part. But for now, it couldn't hurt to just try.

He stood up, arching and flexing his feet a bit and moving his ankles around before spreading his arms out. Then he began the thirty-two fouettes, finding a spot on the mirror to focus on with each turn. He could recall one time in his life where he had wanted something so badly:

_He just met his father at the parent pick-up area of the middle school parking lot, silently buckling his seat belt while clutching his backpack to his chest._

"_Is everything all right, kiddo?"_

_Kurt nodded, unable to take his eyes off of the window. Burt Hummel was a smart man and could always figure out if something was upsetting his son, as the two always often shared everything. He knew about his big dreams and aspirations to the little things that made him tick. Even when Kurt nervously came out to him, Burt merely nodded and said, "I know," then treated him to a night out at his favorite restaurant. _

_Now, Burt would be sure to get to the bottom of this._

"_Those boys aren't still giving you a hard time, are they?"_

_Kurt shook his head. "No."_

_The older man paused a moment, taking off his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "It's…not a boy is it? You're not dating anyone yet, are you?"_

"_Oh, Jesus, dad… No." _

'_Thank God.' He sighed. He would always love his son, no matter what. But that just wasn't a conversation he was ready to have. But he still wanted to know about whatever was making his son so distant and upset._

"_It's glee club." _

'_Oh…' He could deal with that._

_Kurt continued, "Mr. Ryerson gave the solo I wanted to Hank Saunders, even though it's in my range. He wouldn't even let us audition for it. And it had been my idea."_

_This wouldn't stand with Burt. If this was something that was important to his son, he wasn't going to sit by and let that closet-case give away something Kurt had worked hard for to some kid just because he had a creepy, unlawful obsession with him._

_The next day Sandy Ryerson was fired and a willing, younger teacher became director of the glee club._

That memory and the sound of his shoe thwacking against the floor pushed Kurt. He would _finish_ this and then Puck would have to cast him in the leading role. Even when the sharp pain in his right toe screamed at him to stop, he kept going. 'Just a few more.' _Spin. Pain. Spin. Spin. Spin. Pain. Spin. Spin. _

He ended the choreography by lifting his working leg higher through passé to slow down, and then shot it far out behind him into a big fourth position, a triumphant smile on his face.

_He did it._

The burning feeling at the end of his large toe brought him back to reality. He stumbled a bit before falling onto the hardwood floor, quickly unlacing his slippers and pulling them off. He moaned at the sight of the blood seeping through his stocking.

He unwrapped his foot and pulled it out through the bottom hole in his stocking, staring in horror at the giant split in the toenail with blood oozing out. "Oh, no…" He grimaced, taking a couple of breaths and allowing himself to stand, before limping down the hall into the bathroom.

But that didn't matter. He finished it.

He would tell Puck tomorrow. Hell, he'd _show_ him if he let him. And he'd _have_ to give him the part.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm baaaack! Hello, my babies. I'm back with a lovely new fic. that I've been working on for a year now. I had actually requested this on an LJ comm. and then thought, 'Fuck it, I'll write it myself."** **So here it is! I've taken heavy inspiration From Mark Heyman, writer of the screenplay for the second draft of **_**Black Swan**_**, which is a **_**lot**_** more darker than the final film.**

**Also, special thanks to my luffer, Misskayla. For making me sit at my laptop and stare at this until I started writing something. Bitch.**

**I'll be back soon with another chapter-I can't believe it's taken me this long to post this one. Anyway, leave some reviews, thoughts, suggestions, feedback, your firstborn, etc. Cheers! Have a happy new year full of Puckurt-shipping!**

**-Leaf**


	2. Part II

**Title: **Mourir pour la danse

**Author: **L3af Con3yb3ar

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **AU, OOC, Explicit Sexual Content, Dub-Con, Crude Language, Cross-dressing, Eating Disorders, Graphic Violence, Character Deaths

**Characters: **Kurt Hummel, Noah Puckerman, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Jesse St. James, Mike Chang, and others

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Black Swan, __Glee, __Swan Lake_, or anything affiliated.

**Part Two**

Kurt stood in front of the bathroom mirror, now clothed in sweats, his hair still wet. A thought struck him. He entered his bedroom and zipped open his bag, pulling out the small tube of lipstick he'd taken from Rachel's dressing room the day before. He closed his eyes before putting it back. _Don't be an idiot. _Then he thought about Jesse. Puck more than likely chose him because the guy practically oozed sex-appeal.

He had always thought he wasn't attractive. His skin was too pale, he was smaller than most, with an awkward smile. The only time he felt beautiful was when he danced. Imagine what it did to his self-esteem when people criticized him for it.

Perhaps the makeup _could_ help him. What exactly did he have to lose?

He took the tube out of the bag again before going back into the bathroom and shutting the door.

Finn stood at the stove, wearing an old t-shirt with his high-school's mascot and jeans. The bacon in the pan sizzled and he flipped them over. Kurt entered and took a seat at the table. "Are you feeling better this morning?" Finn turned at the sound of the chair scraping the hardwood floor, and then did a double-take. He noticed the heavy make-up applied to his brother's face. "What is _that_?"

Kurt looked down, "Make-up," he figured it was too much, as he wasn't a regular wearer.

"I know what it is," an annoyed Finn continued, "Why are you wearing it?"

Kurt shrugged, "I just wanted to."

"Uh-huh." Finn stared at him, suspiciously. Kurt fidgeted.

So, he knew he was lying. His brother wasn't stupid. He might have been a little slow—because who in their right mind would pray to a sandwich or believe that hot-tub water makes sperm swim faster? But, honestly, Finn wasn't a _complete_ idiot.

"I like it, Finn."

"Okay."

_He hates it_, Kurt thought. "Is that all you have to cook? Bacon?" Finn said nothing, sprinkling salt on the fried food. Kurt sighed and rose from the table, maybe he'd pick up a light breakfast on the way to the theatre. "Go food-shopping later, I want asparagus for dinner."

Finn sighed, "I'll be busy. I have an interview later."

"Oh," Kurt padded into the hallway toward his bedroom, "I'm going to go get ready."

* * *

><p>Kurt approached the door, hesitant to knock below Puck's name-plate on the chipped paint. He took a step back before smoothing out his clothing and brushing some hair behind his ear.<p>

_You can do this._

He stepped up to the door and raised a hand to knock. Some muffled shouting from the other side kept him from doing it. He pressed an ear to the door.

"…_for fuck's sake!"_

Kurt quickly backed away, afraid to interrupt. He wrung his hands a bit before leaning against the other wall. He decided that he didn't want to add any _more_ drama to Puck and Rachel's…whatever was going on between them…by barging in on one of their arguments.

"_No, get away the hell away from me—don't you fucking touch me!"_ The door swung open to reveal a furious Rachel while Puck stood a ways behind her, back turned to them. She flinched when her eyes landed on Kurt's form. "What are you doing here?" she folded her arms, blocking the doorway.

"Hi, Rachel," the brunet said, timidly. Why, all of a sudden, was she turning on him now? And why was he afraid to stand up to her?

"I said: what are you doing here?" she repeated, her voice rising a little.

"I-," Kurt stuttered, "I only wanted to talk to him about something." At least he was being honest.

Rachel stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "Talk to him about _what_?" Puck approached her from behind, finally noticing the person she was speaking to.

A petrified Kurt gulped and opened his mouth, carefully choosing his words, before Puck spoke up for him. "Ah, my little white swan," he smirked, "Come in." Rachel turned to him, her eyes bulging and her mouth wide open. She looked back at Kurt, puzzled. Before she could shout at Puck, however, he was already at his desk inside, back turned to them. Kurt bravely stepped forward and tried to squeeze past her.

"Excuse me." Rachel didn't move as she stared at him, betrayed. Kurt glanced back at her. "I'll see you later, okay?"

She said nothing as Puck shut the door on her.

Kurt flinched a bit, staring up at the slightly-buff ballet director. He looked around the small, dark but cozy area. There was a desk, a small couch, and posters from various productions lining the walls. He still felt very small and awkward in the middle of it as Puck sat down and lit a cigarette. Kurt exhaled when Puck finally looked at him. "If now's not a good time…"

"Now's a perfect time," Puck said, "Go ahead."

Courageously, Kurt took another deep breath and continued speaking, his hands behind his back. "I just wanted to tell you…" he paused with his voice shaking a little, "That I practiced the coda last night." _There_. "And I did it. I finished."

No response.

"I thought you should know."

Puck took a drag of his cigarette, "So?" Kurt's heart dropped, "Every dancer in this company could do the coda with a little practice."

"Yes, but—

"Technique is just technique," Puck interrupted. He blew a puff of smoke and Kurt struggled not to cough. "It's safe. _You_ don't take any risks and it makes your dancing…" He turned to a poster on the wall of Rachel and took another drag, "Frigid."

_That stung. _"Okay."

"Honestly, Kurt, I don't care about your technique. You should know that by now."

"But yesterday you—

Puck watched him and Kurt felt even _smaller_ under his gaze. "So?"

"So, uhm…" Kurt paused. This was stupid. "I'm really sorry for bothering you. I just thought-

"Yes, well, I've already chosen Jesse."

_Shit._ "Oh."

Puck shrugged, finally putting his cigarette out in the ash-tray on his desk. His eyes continued to bore into Kurt's, who's immediately snapped toward the door.

As he moved from his spot, "Well, thank you," his hand reached out to open the door but he stopped and turned back to the older man. "I'm really sorry about Rachel."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean," Kurt stopped and quickly tried to recover, "I mean I'm sorry you two are having troubles."

"Is that so?"

"Yes! She's my best friend—my only friend, really—and I know she can be a bit stuck up," he continued to ramble as Puck watched him, steadily, amused to see where this was going, "And I _know_ it's really none of my business but don't hold it against her…"

Puck said nothing.

Kurt continued, "She's just ready for things to get more serious between the two of you," he laughed a little, unsure if this was helping or hurting Rachel's cause, "I mean, she's not getting any younger. She is about to turn thirty-three—

"You're right," Puck interjected, raising an eyebrow, "It's none of your business."

"Of course," Kurt nodded, "I'm sorry." He turned to leave again, opening the door. A hand shot out to slam it back and grab Kurt's upper-arm, startling the younger man.

"Wha—

"You've been here for four years, bringing me little gifts, and you've hardly ever said a word."

Kurt looked down at the hand gripping his arm, gently trying to pull himself away, "I know."

"I thought you were a nice, sweet little boy—now I see the other side."

"What?"

"What are you doing here?" Puck asked, his grip tightening, "Why did you come in today?"

Kurt used both hands to gently try to push him away. "You know why."

"I _know_ why," Puck said, grabbing his other arm, "I want to hear _you_ say it."

Kurt stared into hazel eyes and took a deep breath, "I want to be Odette."

"You must have thought it was possible. Otherwise, why bother getting yourself all dolled up?" Puck said, amused at the makeup on Kurt's face, which the dancer had long-forgotten about. He brought the smaller man closer, "You're just going after the part?"

"Yes."

With a sigh, Puck released him and returned to his desk, sitting on top of it. "The truth is, when I look at you, all I see is the white swan," he moved some papers on his desk, "Yes, you're beautiful…fearful…fragile… But Odile? It's a hard fucking job to dance both."

"I can dance the black swan too."

Puck scoffed, "Really?"

Kurt stared at him, bracing himself for the criticism.

"In four years, every time you dance, I've seen you obsess, trying to get each and every move perfect," he paused, "But in those four years, I've never seen you _lose_ yourself."

"I know."

"All of that discipline for _what_?"

Kurt tried to swallow the lump in his throat. If he didn't get out of here now, he'd surely lose himself in front of Puck. He wiped his eyes, catching a tear before it could fall and his voice hitched, _"I just want to be perfect."_

Annoyed at how softly he was speaking, "You what?"

"I want… to be perfect!" Kurt repeated, with more conviction in his tone.

Puck stood up and grinned, "Perfection isn't _just_ about control," he said approaching Kurt, "It's also about _letting go_, surprising yourself so that you can surprise the audience. And let me tell you something: very few people have it in them." Kurt squeaked when Puck pushed him back against the door, rough hands gripping onto him. The older man loomed over him with a somewhat predatory look in his eyes, a shark ready to feast on a baby penguin.

"What are you doing?"

"Are you…afraid of me?"

"Noah, I'm sorry if I overstepped my_—_

"_Are you afraid of me?"_

"I _shouldn't_ have said—

"What are you so scared of?"

"_Nothing, I just—_

Puck grabbed the back of his hair and Kurt hissed, his entire body stiffening as fear flashed in his eyes. Puck kissed his forehead, "This?" Kurt shook his head, his hands balling into fists, "Or _this?_" Puck attacked his mouth. His eyes widened when he felt Puck's tongue slip past his lips and flick against his tongue, the stubble on his face scraping against his skin almost painfully.

He eventually closed his eyes and melted into the kiss, his free hand raised slightly, unsure…eventually resting it on Puck's shoulder. He sensually gripped his director's shirt, moaning with need into the kiss.

Puck moved his hand from Kurt's arm and rested it on his back, his other hand moving to stroke Kurt's locks. Suddenly, the other man's eyes snapped open and Puck jolted backwards, his hand flying up to his mouth. _"Ow!"_

Kurt watched him, immediately regretting it.

"You bit me!"

"Oh, god," Kurt backed away.

"I can't believe you bit me!" Puck shouted, his finger tips pressing against the tip of his tongue where he began to bleed.

"I'm sorry!" Stunned, Kurt turned away and bolted out the door, shutting it quickly behind him.

Puck glared at that door with amusement. This wasn't over. "_That fucking hurt—_

* * *

><p>Kurt sat with his back to the mirror in the large rehearsal space, his heart still racing from what had just happened. What <em>was<em> that? Puck fights with Rachel, insults his dancing, and then kisses him? Shortly after running away from Puck's office, Kurt ran to the nearest bathroom stall and locked himself inside, completely ashamed. Sure, he was there to simply ask for the role but did Puck think that was the way he would go about doing it? By spreading himself out on his desk like some whore and letting the brawny director take him? And then he remembered all of the clown-makeup on his face. He should have taken Finn's reaction as a warning. It was stupid.

Yes, he was desperate enough to beg for the part…but he wouldn't go as low as sleeping with the director for it. Up until an hour ago, he had never even been kissed. He'd never been on a date or asked out by a guy, much less slept with one. In Kurt's opinion, that wasn't how it worked. He wasn't Jesse, who would often brag about the hot guy he had coaxed back to his apartment the night before. He locked eyes with the other brunet, receiving a glower. Kurt looked away and fixed the leg warmers around his ankles. He wanted his first time to be with the man he loved and who loved him back. Then again, who's to say Kurt didn't want it, if the slight bulge in his sweats was anything to go by? It felt nice to be wanted by someone for once.

However, it was foolish of him to get caught up in the moment like that.

Kurt took another breath and tried not to cry again, instead focusing on lacing the satin ribbons of his pointe slippers. He began working on his stretching and warm-ups, trying not to think about Puck or the role, which he knew he'd lost.

_Jesse_.

He looked over at the golden boy again, seated amongst his friends, knowing the good news that was in store for him. Honestly, why did Jesse St. James get everything he could possibly want, despite his nasty attitude? He was handsome, an incredible dancer, popular, a new bed partner every night…

"_What?"_ Jesse seethed, looking up from stretching his legs, he whispered to his friends, "God, why is he always staring at me?" Kurt flinched and looked away, trying not to draw any more attention to himself.

"I think he's obsessed with you," one of Jesse's friends piped up.

"He wants you to let him suck your dick, Jesse," the group laughed and Jesse sneered, as if repulsed by the thought of being intimate with someone like him, as if he was capable of such a thing. Intimacy.

A sudden wave of energy swept through the room as some of the dancers ran out into the hallway. _"It's up!" _Kurt finally noticed a pair of feet running up to him when he felt a tap on his shoulder, "Hey, the cast-list has been posted!"

Shortly, all of the dancers began leaving the room, crowding around a bulletin-board. Before Jesse could follow them, Kurt caught up and tapped him, "Hey, Jesse."

"What do you want?"

"I…" Kurt frowned, so much for doing _him_ a favor, "I just wanted to say...congratulations. You deserved it."

Jesse stared at him for a moment, perplexed, until it finally dawned on him: _He must have heard something._ He smugly smiled and ran outside, leaving Kurt by himself in the room. He'd look at the cast list later. No point in rushing through a crowd to find out he'd be playing a page, _again_. He decided he was no longer in the mood to stay there either and moved to the corner of the space to pack up all of his belongings.

As he exited the rehearsal room, he sadly glanced at the crowd in the middle of the hallway, the gossiping dancers struggling over each other to see the list. Kurt quickly sprinted to the other side, shoving the bathroom door open and shutting it after him.

He placed his bag on the counter and turned the faucet, running his hands through the freezing water until it turned scolding hot. He splashed a bit on his face and dabbed it dry with a paper towel. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. _Don't cry._ He shook his head, sniffling quietly before shutting the faucet and picking up his bag. He dabbed at his eyes with the paper towel and held his head high, going back out into the hallway.

A few of the other dancers snuck glances at him when he emerged, some of them whispering. Kurt started walking the other way, unaware that Jesse had followed him, "Hey!"

Kurt turned around, surprised at his outburst. Why wasn't he rejoicing with his friends?

"Why would you say that?" His face was flushed with anger and embarrassment. Why was he getting mad? "Why the hell would you say that to me?"

"What are you talking about, Jesse?"

"Is this your idea of some sick joke, you fucking bitch?" Kurt said nothing, just staring at him.

"I thought you'd be happy!"

Jesse opened his mouth in fury, "Fuck you!" he stormed away, his face screwing up and shoulders hunched over as if he would burst into tears. Kurt watched him leave, uncertain at what just happened. A group of dancers stared at Kurt, making him feel self-conscious. First a few, then more and more of them smiled at him.

_It's now or never. _

Taking a deep breath, he tentatively walked up to the group, shocked as the other men and women parted like the Red Sea, allowing him to get to the bulletin board. He scanned the list, starting from the very bottom until he reached the top. He lifted a hand to his mouth, and gasped:

_Odette, "The Swan Prince" / Odile, "The Black Swan"_

Kurt Hummel

"Oh my god…"

"Congrats, Kurt!" He heard, "Congratulations, Kurt!" he turned around was a met with a sea of dancers, staring and beaming at him with polite smiles, envy hidden behind them. He was too stunned to reply to anyone as they kindly touched his shoulder. He couldn't even smile as he looked back at the cast-list and then the other dancers while his mouth formed a large 'O.' A few of them continued to hug him and grasp his shoulders, offering words of appraisal and approval. Others even applauded. He caught Blaine's eye as he was leaning against the wall, who gave him a closed-mouth smile and a thumbs-up sign but Kurt, too shocked to react to that, walked away from the crowd with his bag over his shoulder.

He re-entered the bathroom and slipped into a stall, closing the door after him. He let his bag fall to the floor before sobs overtook him. A hand placed over his mouth, he tried to stifle the noise. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the stall. He was consumed with so much happiness that he could barely breathe.

"I did it, daddy…" he sighed softly, _"I'm going to be a star."_ He ran his hands through his hair and sniffled, rolled up a piece of toilet paper, and then wiped his eyes. He lifted the strap of his bag over his shoulder and opened the stall.

The sight in front of him stopped Kurt in his place. On the mirror, the words _'Filthy, fucking WHORE' _were sprawled out in deep red—it looked like lipstick. Kurt rushed forward and grabbed at a bunch of paper towels to wipe out the startling, offensive words.

* * *

><p>Kurt smiled at his name-plate tagged to the door, underneath 'Mike Chang' and above 'Dave Karofsky' and 'Matt Rutherford'. He didn't mind sharing one bit; just as long as they were a bit nicer than the soloists he spent nearly four years with. Puck grinned at him and turned the knob.<p>

The dressing room door opened, and a large hand flipped on the light switch. "You can change in here from now on," Puck entered first, and then allowed Kurt to follow him inside.

He marveled at the site of the room. There were new mirrors, with blue satin curtains lining the walls, painted a light cream color. A sofa was on one side of the room and a large, luxurious wardrobe closet, stood next to it. He noticed that the room was a bit larger than the one for the soloists. "You're sharing with Dave, Mike, and Matt now, so be considerate."

"Oh my _God,_" Kurt gasped, rushing up to the vanity table to set his bag down and touch the large bouquet of flowers.

Puck laughed, "Please, just 'Noah'."

"They're beautiful…" Kurt sniffed them, biting his lip, "I don't know what to say."

Puck shut the door and approached Kurt, placing his hands on either side of his hips, "You don't sound happy."

"N-no!" Kurt turned in his arms and shook his head, "They're lovely. I'm thrilled! But…"

"But?"

"You said—

"I know," Puck said, "But that doesn't matter. I came to my senses when you bit me."

Horrified, Kurt backed up until he hit the table, "Noah, I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking, I didn't—

Puck cut off his rambling by gently caressing his face. "Shhh…" he whispered as his thumb stroked Kurt's cheek, "Stop being sorry, baby…please. It showed me there was some passion in there." He kissed his forehead when Kurt nodded. "I'm taking a chance on you, my little prince."

Unsure of how to react, "I-I know…" Kurt stared into Puck's hazel eyes.

"I look at you…and I see Odette," he sighed, "And Odile…I see potential."

"I promise I won't let you down. Thank you for choosing me."

Puck kissed him again, this time, a quick peck on the lips, "Don't thank me," he whispered, "Congratulations." He pressed his lips to the young dancer's lips again, sucking on the bottom lip and pulling him closer. Rachel took this moment to stride in, purposefully interrupting them just as Kurt pulled away from Puck and crossed to the other side of the room.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

Puck glared at her, "Rachel, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, nothing. I just thought I'd pay your new precious 'little prince' a visit and personally congratulate him," she snapped in a condescending tone, glaring daggers at Kurt, who stood with his head facing the wall and his hand at his lips.

"You leave him alone, okay?" Puck said, defending him, "Don't do this now."

Rachel's face stiffened, "Oh, go to hell," she spat, storming off and slamming the door. Kurt flinched.

"Good girl! Fantastic!" Puck bellowed, sarcastically, "Well done!" He reached for Kurt's hand, "Don't you listen to her—

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, opening the door to follow her, "Excuse me."

"_Kurt!"_

Kurt didn't listen. All he cared about right at this moment was confronting his best friend and letting her know what was up. Was this about the role? Was it about Puck? He wasn't trying to steal either from her! She was his only friend and he didn't want to lose that. Maybe if she just listened to him, she'd understand.

He reached the end of the hallway, turning both directions before turning another corner. _"Rachel!"_ He sprinted after her, slowing down to open the exit door she had just pushed back to slow him down. "Rachel, _please!" _He ran after her through the door and caught up to her in the stairwell.

She was already half a flight up before she turned around to stare angrily at him.

"Rachel, please don't be mad at me."

She turned and proceeded back up the stairs. "How could you do this to me?"

He followed her, running up two steps at a time, "I'm not doing _anything!_"

"Was this your _plan_? Fucking me over like this?"

"Rachel, no!" he panted, "I only wanted to be Odette!"

"I thought you messed up the audition," she turned around again in a huff, her face turning tomato-red, "Hmm? Is that how it works? Suddenly you're there this morning at his office for a 'private meeting,' and now you're _replacing me?_"

Kurt looked away, about to burst into tears at any moment, "I swear, it wasn't like that."

"Oh, yes, it is," Rachel accused, moving down the steps to tower over Kurt, "Admit it."

"Rachel, I understand that you're angry, I do," he tried to reason.

"Don't you condescend to me!"

"—but you're acting crazy! I would _never_ intentionally try to hurt you!"

"You're lying," she said, "You're fucking him, aren't you?"

"Not all of us have to!" he immediately regretted the words when they left his lips.

Rachel opened her mouth and balled up her fist as if she was ready to strike him. "What the fuck did you just say?" she asked, venom dripping from every word, "What did you say to me you conceited, lying, backstabbing _prick_?"

"Nothing, I didn't say anything—I didn't mean it!"

"_I don't believe you!" _she screamed, her eyes bulging out of her head, "You're a two-faced loser, Kurt Hummel. Yesterday you're my friend, and today, you're what? Huh?"

"When have you ever treated me like a friend, Rachel?" Kurt shouted, gaining a backbone for probably the first time in his life, "Why can't you be happy for me?"

"Happy?"

"Yes!" Kurt stood his ground, ignoring the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes, "For once in my life, people are going to know who _I _am! _Applaud_ for me! You of all people should understand how that feels."

"So, forget about _me_ then, huh? _Fuck_ Rachel Berry, right?" she let out a bitter, sarcastic chuckle, "Who cares what happens to me so long as you, a mediocre fucking wannabe dancer, get, what, _two weeks_ in the spotlight? And anyway, what made _you_ so special? If anyone could have replaced me, it should've been Jesse!."

Kurt reached out to take her hand, "Rachel, don't do this—

Rachel snatched her hand and away and began running up the stairs, ignoring Kurt's protests.

"You're being selfish!"

"_FUCK YOU!"_

Kurt heard the sound of a door opening and slamming before he backed up against the wall and slid down, resting his face in his hands. _"Damn it…"_ he sighed, his breathing speeding up. He wrapped his arms around his knees and closed his eyes. "...What am I going to do?"

* * *

><p>Kurt sat in the middle of the cart, staring down at the ground…brooding. He mulled over the encounter with Rachel, silently and unconsciously moving his lips, wishing and thinking about the things he should have said…what he shouldn't have said. <em>L'esprit de l'escalier<em>, the French called it. He brushed some hair out of his face and inspected his nails.

After the debacle, Kurt went back to his dressing room, completely distraught, when he met the new dancer playing Prince Siegfried—an Asian man, Mike Chang. Very warm, handsome, but not someone he saw himself dating. As if the muscular man would ever think of him as more than a potential friend. But he sat with Kurt and listened to him, unable to give advice as a few minutes later he was called into a rehearsal.

What about him, exactly, pushed people away?

Across from him, an elderly man, dressed in a suit and tie, stared at him, smiling. Kurt politely smiled back and looked elsewhere. A few minutes later, he looked back at the old man, who was now licking his lips, eying the petite dancer up and down. "Anyone ever tell you you look like a girl?" Kurt pressed his lips together and shook his head, looking at his hands folded in his lap. _Don't let him bother you. He's just an old pervert. _"Come home with me, beautiful," Kurt raised his head again, "I can show you a good time."

_How dare he? _Kurt gagged and held his breath. _The nerve of this creep._

Now immensely repulsed, he grimaced and closed his eyes, opening them again to find the man rubbing his crotch, making a disgusting clicking noise with his tongue at the back of his throat. Kurt stared at him in horror, looking up at the line-route map as the train slowed to a complete stop.

"_Next stop, 42__nd__ Street/Bryant Park…"_

He gasped. He was on the wrong train!

Ignoring the sick man's shouting, he bolted from his seat and squeezed past the sliding doors. _"Faggot!"_ The doors closed on his scarf but he was able to pull it free before the train could pull off and strangle him. He waited a moment as the cart began trailing out of the station, watching the old pervert give him the middle finger through the window. _Even strangers love picking on me_.

He fixed the scarf, carefully wrapping it around his neck and stuffing it into the collar of his blue coat to protect himself from the chill. Rubbing his hands together, he made his way to a set of stairs, leading down into a grungy tunnel.

The thought of being the only one down here at this hour of the night absolutely petrified him. He had heard stories of people getting mugged, or worse, when their attacker felt they were most vulnerable. He quickened his pace through the tunnel, crossing toward the opposite platform. He could hear a creepy cartoonish music from up ahead echoing off of the tiled walls. He slowed down as he passed a subway musician, a keyboardist, accompanied by electric dolls, swaying and jerking and dancing to the eerie music. They didn't seem to stop as long as the music played on. Each doll had a frozen, chilling smile on its face, their painted eyes watching Kurt with a sinister expression. He began to speed up, horror-struck of being down there any longer.

His pace turned into a full-out sprint as the lights in the tunnel began shutting off, one-by-one, and the music grew louder and louder. He regretted looking back as he slammed into a tiled wall, the icy-cold porcelain stunning him for a bit. Then he realized he ran past the stairs leading up to the platform.

Now in total darkness, the music stopped playing completely. Kurt clutched his bag, shrieking a bit when a light at the other end of the tunnel switched back on. Another figure, wearing a dark-colored coat stood up ahead. Kurt cautiously took a few steps forward but froze as the sound of the other figure's shoes against the floor reverberated off of the walls. He could hear the sound of a train upstairs.

Kurt began walking at a brisk pace, eyes fixated on the figure walking toward him. The two eventually bumped shoulders, and Kurt was thrown off balance. He looked up long enough to notice that the other person…_looked exactly like him!_

The man quickly turned his head and stalked off into the darkness, his head held high.

_Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me_.

The sound of the train stopping at the platform made Kurt jog up the steps, desperately crying out for someone to hold the doors open for him.

* * *

><p>Kurt entered the apartment lobby, unwrapping the scarf from his neck. The doorman looked up from his newspaper and greeted him kindly, but Kurt was in no mood to acknowledge him, still angry about his fight with Rachel and still terrified at what had transpired down in that subway tunnel.<p>

Once at his door, a few flights up, Kurt jumbled with the keys in the lock, quietly slipping inside once he unlocked it. He placed his keys into the basket and unbuttoned his coat. "Finn?"

His brother stood in the kitchen, a smile on his face. "You're late."

"The trains were running late, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he said, "I got something for you!"

Kurt raised his eyebrows, now curious, "Really?"

"Yeah!" Finn was beaming, "A gift to tell you 'congrats." You sounded like you had a tough day on the phone…and I wanted to let you know how proud I am of you." Kurt rested a hand on his heart, touched at the gesture. Finn brought a large white box from the counter and placed it on the table. He stepped aside to allow Kurt to open it. Inside was a large rectangular cake, slathered in pink frosting and pink decorative, edible flowers. A small center piece, a ballerina, stood in the middle of it. The words, 'Congrats, little bro' were written on top with a white frosting. "It's a vanilla cake with strawberry filling," Finn continued, taking a large knife from the dishwasher, "Our favorite!"

Kurt bit his lip. The last time they had this cake was at their parents' funeral. Not only that, it was literally dripping with so much sugar. He simply _couldn't_ eat this. He'd be sick-even the sticky, sweet smell made him a little nauseous. "Finn…" his brother ignored him as he started cutting a large piece of the cake. He shook his head, "Finn, not too big,"

"What's the big deal?" Finn asked, ignoring Kurt.

"That's way, _way_ too much!"

Finn continued to disregard him, "Come on, it's a celebration—just this once—

"Finn, please, my stomach is still in knots!"

He stopped and turned to Kurt, his eyes narrowing. "Fine," he threw the knife on to the table and slammed the box shut, "Fine!" he said, picking it up and moving toward the trash can. "Then I'll throw it out, it's garbage!"

Kurt's heart sped up and he felt terrible. "Oh, no," Rushing over to stop him, "No, wait!"

"I try to do something nice for you, like always, and this is the thanks I get?"

"I'm sorry!"

"Acting like a spoiled brat—you could at least try and be a little bit more grateful for all of the things I do for you, y'know."

Kurt nodded, "You're absolutely right," he said, trying to avoid another fight for the day, "I'm sorry…"

Finn visibly calmed down and nodded, looking the enormous cake over. "It's all that I'm asking."

"It looks so yummy…" Kurt said in a small voice, glancing up at his brother then back at the cake. "Thank you." He wrapped his arms around Finn's neck in gratitude, despite his stomach already groaning in displeasure. Finn placed the cake back on the counter and took a large scoop of frosting out with his finger. He held it out to Kurt, who forced a polite smile and sucked on the sugary icing. Finn laughed and reached for the knife, proceeding to cut a slice for the both of them…a larger slice for Kurt.

The dancer spent the rest of the night lurching into his toilet bowl.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: There. Don't be too angry at me. But I have this thing where I kind of like making the characters I'm working with suffer for a while...yeah, anywho... Next chapter, we'll see Kurt having a bit more interaction with Blaine, while his relationship with Puck progresses. I'd like to thank those of you who've added me to your alert list and those who've written a review for the first chapter. I mean it, guys, your comments and suggestions help me TREMENDOUSLY.  
><strong>

**Review, review, review! Thanks for reading! See you soon.**


	3. Part III

**Title: **Mourir pour la danse

**Author: **L3af Con3yb3ar

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **AU, OOC, Explicit Sexual Content, Dub-Con, Crude Language, Cross-dressing, Eating Disorders, Graphic Violence, Character Deaths

**Characters: **Kurt Hummel, Noah Puckerman, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Jesse St. James, Mike Chang, and others

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Black Swan, __Glee, __Swan Lake_, or anything affiliated.

**Part Three**

As Kurt walked through the hallway near the dressing rooms, the other dancers glanced at him and parted, subtly, to make way. His new status already seemed to have an effect, he noted, although it made him slightly uncomfortable. Regardless, he smiled at them and approached the bulletin board, his eyes skimming over the rehearsal schedule. He made a mental note and continued on his way, his mood lifting when he saw his dressing room door a few feet away. Just then, he saw Rachel emerge from her dressing room.

She scowled at Kurt, sizing him up but the male dancer held his own, gripping the strap of his bag tightly as his lips parted. The two stared at each other for a few seconds until Rachel smirked and walked toward him, purposefully bumping into his shoulder.

"Watch where I'm going," she snapped.

Kurt said nothing as she walked away with a flip of her hair. He sighed, pacing to his dressing room before opening the door and slamming it shut. Once inside, he dropped his bag on the floor and relaxed a little, rubbing the shoulder she had intentionally bumped into. Eventually, he removed his coat and sat down at his vanity, removing a compact from his bag.

He jumped at the abrupt knock on the door. "Come in."

The short, stocky administrator opened the door and poked her head inside. "Good morning."

"Hi," Kurt said, taking off his knit-sweater, leaving him in a white wife-beater as the administrator entered the space, holding out a gray practice tutu, "Here."

"I'm wearing this?" he asked, looking at the tutu in awe, "I get to wear a tutu?"

"For when you're dancing the black swan—I don't know any details just yet but apparently it's part of Puck's 'vision' this year, I think," she said, picking off lint and smoothing out the fabric before handing it over to him, "Congrats, kid."

He smiled, taking the tutu from her. He turned back to the mirror and noticed that she was frowning at him, "What?"

"What happened to your back?"

Kurt contorted his body to get a view of his right shoulder. There was a small cluster of reddish bumps—a small rash. He moved his fingers over it, bothered by the imperfection, "Damn it…"

"The clinic upstairs might have something for it," she offered but Kurt shook his head.

"No, it's okay," he said, unzipping the compact and taking out a container of makeup—which he picked up right before coming in. "Thank you." The administrator nodded and left without a word, quietly closing the door after her. Overwhelmed already, Kurt twisted again to get a better look at his shoulder blade and then proceeded to cover the offending rash in makeup.

* * *

><p>"Remember, Odette wants love," Puck said, "That's what is needed to break the spell."<p>

Mike and Kurt were currently rehearsing the beginning of Act II when Siegfried and Odette first meet, accompanied by piano music. Sitting in his chair in front of the mirror, Puck watched the pair from a distance, nodding his head in approval.

A cross-bow in his hand, Mike danced around the space, miming a hunt. Kurt acted spooked and danced away when he spun around and saw him. Mike cautiously chased him, acting intrigued with the 'beautiful creature,' every now and then reaching a hand out to gently graze the other's back or arm. With a scared look on his face, Kurt gracefully retracted his arms, and then raised them, mimicking a bird flapping its wings. He snuck glances at Puck, eager for some type of feedback but the older man only had a fist tucked under his chin.

He spun on his toes, away from Mike's grasp, disentangling from him. In the middle of the next pirouette, he saw another man standing at the door way, watching them. He spun again, refocusing on the man, who looked almost like him. Another spin, and he got a much better focus—the man looked _just_ like him.

Freaked, he stumbled, gasping a bit—but grateful that Mike had caught his arm before he fell down. "Are you all right?"

Puck stood up, "Kurt?"

"I…" Kurt recovered and shook his head, squinting to focus on the figure.

"Kurt, what happened?"

"Who's that?" he asked, pointing at the door. Instead of his double, Blaine stood at the door. He smiled and waved; Kurt relaxed but still watched the raven-haired man with distrust. Blaine diverted his eyes and walked away, so Puck barely got a glimpse.

"Come on, Kurt," the director said, "Let's keep going."

He nodded and took his place next to Mike, who leaned in to whisper, "Relax, you could hurt yourself."

"Didn't you see that?"

"Blaine? Yeah, he's a nice guy—

"No, he's not," Kurt interrupted, "I mean—it-it wasn't him standing there. It was someone else."

Mike stared at him like he had ten heads and then laughed. "Okay."

Kurt sighed, unnerved that Mike didn't believe him; regardless, he stood in position as Puck called out, "Maestro!" The two dancers began the routine again.

* * *

><p>With only a small garden salad and a bottle of Snapple, Kurt paid for his lunch at the register. The cashier handed him his change and Kurt bowed his head, "Thank you." He entered the small, crowded dining space, tucked away in the bowels of the theatre, for the dancers, crew members, and orchestra members. Almost every table was full, except for the empty seat at the table near the back where the male soloists were sitting—his former group of soloists.<p>

Almost immediately after he saw the group, Jesse looked up and peered his way. He raised a hand, smiling, and waved in his direction. Taken aback, Kurt started forward but Jesse shouted out, "Hey, Blaine, over here!" Kurt stopped moving, "Blaine!"

Blaine swiftly brushed past him but turned around, "I'm so sorry—hey!" Kurt tried to avoid his gaze.

"Hi."

"I saw you and Mike rehearsing this morning. You looked incredible!"

Kurt politely nodded his head, "Thanks."

"Yeah, so…" Blaine clutched his tray, a plate full of pasta, chicken Parmesan, Kurt noticed. "Hey, you should come sit with us!" he said, a huge smile on his face. Before Kurt could shake his head 'no' or even think up an excuse, he took his free hand and maneuvered him toward the table. He began panicking;

Unaware, Blaine sat down and took a sip of his water.

The brunet dancer felt uneasy as all eyes landed on him. Jesse spoke up, twirling a piece of celery in his hand, "I don't think there's any more room."

"It's okay, we can squeeze," Blaine said, "Grab a chair."

"N-no, that's okay," Kurt said, grateful that Blaine thought of trying to include him—even though the other guys probably hated him even more now, "I-uhm… I-I really shouldn't even be down here—I actually have to run to a fitting." He prayed to whatever entity that was up there that the boys would believe him. He doubted they did.

Blaine's face fell, "Oh… Well, I guess I'll see you around then!"

"Yeah," with a small wave, "Bye, guys."

He started walking away, ducking his head, when he heard Jesse shout out, offhandedly, "I guess the _diva_ thinks he's too good for us now!" the other men at the table, save for Blaine, laughed but Kurt tried to ignore the remark, only concerned about getting the hell out of the there. He quickened his pace out the door.

Outside, in an empty locker-filled hallway, a ways from the cafeteria, Kurt picked at his lunch. The size of the space made him feel particularly small and lonely. He understood that that Blaine guy meant well, but he still couldn't help but feel some mistrust toward him. Why couldn't he spare Kurt the embarrassment and just leave him alone? _Unless that's what he wanted_, Kurt thought bitterly. _Maybe he and Jesse are best friends now and he only did it so they could make fun of—_ Hearing footsteps, he looked up to find Blaine approaching him, a small bag over his shoulders.

"Hey, you."

Blushing, Kurt looked away and stood up to throw out the rest of his salad. Maybe he'd be safe in the confines of his dressing room until his lunch break was over.

"Sorry about that," he said, "I didn't mean to take your spot."

"It's fine."

"I don't want you to think I'm trying to replace you or anything," he said. Kurt felt uneasy at that but Blaine didn't notice. He smirked, "What a bunch of cunts, huh? God, who knew gay guys here were so catty?"

Kurt shrugged and bit his lip. "I should probably—

"Yeah, of course!"

He started to leave but Blaine grabbed his arm, "What?" he said, finally about to tell the guy to leave him alone. He noticed that Blaine was a few inches shorter than him.

"I was just wondering…maybe we could go get a drink some time?"

_No way_. "I-I'm not… I mean, I don't…"

"I understand—it's okay if you don't want to," Blaine shrugged, "I'm new here and you seemed cool, unlike some people…" he said, rolling his eyes and smiling. _Why was he always doing that?_ "Maybe some other time?"

Kurt nodded and feigned a smile, "I'll think about it."

"Cool, see ya later!" Blaine grinned, ran a hand through his curls, and started to walk away, "Oh, and hey—don't let those douchebags get to you. I'm pretty sure they're just jealous. They'd probably do anything to be where you are right now."

_Maybe._ "Thank you," Kurt said, looking elsewhere.

"Okay, well, bye!"

* * *

><p>"Okay, that's enough," Puck ordered, "Thank you." Mike and Kurt were once again rehearsing Odette and Siegfried's meeting, both now drenched in sweat. They stopped dancing and parted, Mike going over to his belongings to get a towel while Kurt approached Puck, "That was beautiful, Kurt."<p>

The brunet grinned, still a little out of breath, but, nevertheless, flattered by the compliment. "Thank you."

"But, you see, I knew the white swan wouldn't be a problem for you."

_And there it was._

"The real work would be your metamorphosis into the evil twin," Kurt nodded, as if he didn't already hear this about a hundred times in the past three days, "And I know I saw a flash of him yesterday," Puck continued, folding his arms and crossing one leg over the other, "The Act III coda, please," he gestured to the piano player.

An hour later and with a pain in his ankles, Kurt stood at a water fountain in the hallway, filling his water bottle and taking a few sips. He could hear the clapping of pointe slippers against the floor from the other side of the walls.

Curious, he entered another large rehearsal space, where the corps and soloists practiced the choreography from Act II. Among them was Blaine, who danced as if he didn't have a care in the world, long arms gracefully moving as if he were a magnificent bird. Kurt wondered why Puck just didn't choose _him _to dance the role.

He watched in fascination and slight envy as he danced alongside Santana, a close friend of Brittany's, and Jesse. Blaine had a looser style than Jesse, less precise and articulated, but fluid. He then spotted the two tattoos on his back underneath the white tank-top—a pair of black wings.

Puck snuck up behind him at the doorway, "Look at the way he moves…" he noted, "Imprecise, but effortless…" he closed in on Kurt's ear, dauntingly, "He's not _faking _it." Kurt's expression hardened and he suppressed a sigh, bothered by Puck's praise of the new guy and backhanded jab toward him. "You'd do well to mirror him."

He knew _exactly _what the director was implying.

Unlike Kurt, Blaine looked completely at ease, despite a small mistake he made, which he ended up laughing about it with Jesse and Santana, amused rather than bothered at his faux pas.

Kurt gulped, threatened.

"Come, my little prince," Puck said, leaving the rehearsal room, "We have a long day ahead of us." Kurt stole one last look at Blaine and then followed suit.

Back in the other rehearsal room, hours later, Puck and Kurt continued practicing the pas de deux from Act III, without music. Kurt now wearing the gray tutu, and soaked in sweat, did a series of spins and lifts with Puck's hands placed firmly around his waist. The older man lifted him into the air and then set him down. Kurt leaned in close, as if to kiss him, but pushed off of him, strutting away to dance a short solo, trying his damndest to act seductive.

"Now, remember, Odile offers Siegfried what Odette lacks," Puck said, analyzing Kurt's every move with his eyes, "Lust…sex… And you'll do whatever it takes to get what you want."

Even after hours of practice, Kurt looked stiff…and a little frightened. The total opposite of that Puck was looking for. He shook his head.

"No, Kurt, stop…"

As if he were a chastised child, Kurt stood with his head down, in embarrassment. _"I can't do this…"_

"Yes, you can," Puck said, holding a hand out, "Baby, you're beautiful, you just…" he paused, trying to find the least offensive way to say. Kurt approached him and took his hand, too embarrassed to look into his eyes. "You just have no idea how to use it—

Suddenly, all of the lights in the room shut off. Complete darkness.

"Damn it," Puck shouted, finally losing it, "Fuck!" He stormed up to the door and threw it open, _"Excuse me, we're still working in here!"_

Kurt stood still, watching the door, and waiting for Puck to come back. "Noa—

_Kur'…_

The dancer froze in his place.

_Kurt…_

"Wh—

Suddenly, the lights turned back on and Puck returned, "Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath, "We must be the only ones still here."

"Were you just calling my name?"

"…No?"

Kurt didn't say anything. He instead nodded and wrapped his arms around himself as Puck approached him. "Now, where were we?" he said, his hands gently touching Kurt's arms.

"The lean-in…"

"Right," Puck said, leaning in, "The kiss." He studied Kurt's face for a moment, "You know what? We'll stop here for today."

"N-no! I can keep going—

"No," he said, rolling his eyes, "No. More practice won't do any good."

Slightly hurt, Kurt nodded and looked anywhere else in the room, ashamed to look at Puck. "I'm sorry," Puck turned his face toward him and pecked his lips.

"Please, stop apologizing," Puck said, burying his nose into Kurt's hair, "No more of that." He wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulder and escorted him out the door, "I've worked you enough for today. Get dressed and I'll take you home."

* * *

><p>Freezing in his bathrobe after stepping out of the shower, Kurt quickly tip-toed to Finn's bedroom door and knocked, "Finn?" He waited a few seconds before knocking again. "Finn, are you in there?" he called out, pressing his ear to the door. Cold and impatient, he turned the knob and pushed the door in, "Finn—<p>

"_Hey!"_ a voice bellowed from the front door, terrifying Kurt enough for him to jump back.

"You frightened me—

Finn stormed up to his brother and tugged on the knob, making sure his door was closed. A loud _slam_ resounded through the hallway, "What are you doing?"

"I didn't know you left," the younger man quickly tried to explain, pulling the front of his robe together to make sure the cold air couldn't get to him.

"I was taking the trash out," Finn folded his arms, "Answer my question, Kurt: what are you doing going in there?"

"I thought you were in your room."

The older man visibly twitched and pointed at his door, "You have no business in there without permission!" he barked.

"I'm sorry."

"What do you want?"

Kurt felt a lump in his throat, reluctant to bother Finn any longer if he was going to blow up at him, "Do we have any more shampoo?" Finn said nothing as he glared at Kurt. _What was his problem?_ "Finn, please, it's freezing."

"Check the linen closet," Finn said, annoyance in his tone, "Anything else?"

"No," Kurt shook his head, "Thank you."

"Look, from now on, just stay out of there, all right?"

"Y-yes, yes…of course," the two stood awkwardly before Finn's door for a moment, before the taller man gave him a pointed look as if asking if he needed anything else, or ordering him to get out of the way. Once Kurt finally got the hint: "Oh, right… Sorry," he moved, allowing Finn to shove past him and open his door. He shot Kurt another dirty look and slipped inside, "I'm sorry—

He was cut off by Finn slamming the door in his face. To Kurt, it seemed everything he'd done lately—even the smallest thing—would annoy or make Finn angry, so there wasn't any point in trying to argue with him—just apologize and move on, hoping that whatever it was would eventually go away.

As he searched through the linen closet, he realized that not once had he ever been inside Finn's room. What could he possibly be hiding in there that he wouldn't want _him_ to see?

* * *

><p>Kurt unbuttoned his coat as he approached the large bulletin board, reluctant about checking the schedule for the day. Just as he thought—Puck had him down for rehearsing Act III the entire day. He took a deep breath and continued scanning the sheet, but then noticed something odd: Rachel's name had a line drawn through wherever it appeared. Furrowing his brows, he continued down the hall, hoping to get an explanation from Puck.<p>

Noticing that his door was open, he walked right through and found Puck sitting at his desk.

Glasses on his face, Puck looked up from his paperwork and could immediately tell that Kurt was upset, "Yes, Kurt?"

"I just looked at the schedule…"

"A last minute decision," he shrugged, matter-of-factually, "I figured you could use the practice—

Kurt shook his head, "No, I'm not here about that," he took a deep breath, "What happened to Rachel? Why is her named crossed out on the schedule?"

Puck pushed the paperwork aside and removed the glasses from his nose, "Rachel's time with the company, unfortunately, has ended."

"What?"

With an unreadable expression on his face, Puck stood from his desk and shut the door, afterwards, taking a seat on his desk.

"Noah, what do you mean?" Kurt pushed, feeling as if the wind was knocked out of him.

"It means," Puck paused, "… she's decided to move on." Kurt looked down at his hands, guilt consuming him. Puck sensed this and immediately wrapped his arms around the dancer's frame, "Believe me, my little prince, this has _nothing_ to do with you." Kurt pressed his face into Puck's chest. The older man pulled away and held his face in his hands.

"It's because of me, I know it," Kurt said, "She's angry at me."

Puck shook his head, "No, babe…" he soothed.

"Yes," Kurt sniffled, shaking slightly as Puck rubbed his arms.

"She's received an offer from a company in Russia." Kurt looked up at him and Puck shrugged. "She'll be missed but believe me, this is a fantastic opportunity for her," Puck kissed his lips softly and groaned as Kurt clutched his shirt. He pulled away from Kurt and caressed his face, grinning when he blushed. "Don't think about it, okay?"

"Okay."

"Now, go get ready," Puck said, gently pushing him out the door, "We start in five minutes."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ****There we are... Please forgive any mistakes or typos that I've missed. I'm not so sure when I'll update with Part IV, as classes resume next week. But I'll do my best to work on this as much as I can.** **Again, reviews and criticism or whatever helps a lot. Thank you to those who reviewed Part II.  
><strong>

**Next chapter, tragedy strikes within the company. See you soon!**


	4. Part IV

**Title: **Mourir pour la danse

**Author: **L3af Con3yb3ar

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **AU, OOC, Explicit Sexual Content, Dub-Con, Crude Language, Cross-dressing, Graphic Violence, Character Deaths

**Characters: **Kurt Hummel, Noah Puckerman, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Jesse St. James, Mike Chang, and others

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Black Swan, Glee, Swan Lake_, or anything affiliated.

**(This chapter contains explicit sexual content).**

**Part Four**

Dressed in an expensive Armani tuxedo, courtesy of Puck, Kurt entered the lobby of the theatre, already filled with rich, old sponsors dressed in fancy tuxes and designer dresses. He noticed most of the other dancers already scattered about, comfortably socializing.

With a daunted breath, he scanned the area, searching for someone, anyone to speak to, as he felt entirely out of his element. Brittany, who stood with Santana, spotted him and waved. He squinted and saw her mouthing at him to come join them but Santana grimaced his way and pulled her through the crowd, instead joining Jesse and his date. It seemed as if Jesse had been on a crusade to turn everyone against him ever since he'd been cast as the lead.

Jealous, alone, and small in the packed area, Kurt made his way to the edge of the room and stood near one of the large marble pillars. The week before, he'd made it clear to Puck that he didn't belong at this extravagant event but the older man insisted that it would be rude of the company's new Swan Prince to miss the benefit gala for the ballet. As soft piano music played, he awkwardly stood there, playing with his tie and cuffs and watched the upper-east side crowd mingle with each other.

"Kurt," he felt a gentle brush against his shoulder and looked up to see Puck, dressed handsomely in a designer tuxedo. He didn't bother shaving for the party, but it worked out in his favor. Kurt thought he looked perfect, "There you are." Puck handed him a glass of champagne and kissed him on the cheek, smirking at the growing blush under the brunet's eyes. Kurt didn't drink any of the champagne, "You look…you look stunning."

"Thank you." He avoided eye-contact, deciding not to mention that Puck himself had bought it for him as an incentive to coming to the event—or that the older man looked far more handsome than he did.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," Kurt shook his head, "I'm fine," he lied and pressed himself closer to Puck for comfort, who wrapped a free arm around his waist.

"You don't want to be here, do you?"

"It's a bit overwhelming."

Puck scoffed and squeezed his side, "Is there something wrong with my showing you off?"

"None of the company members even like me," Kurt said, "What makes you think all of these people will have something positive to say?"

"Because I'll have them thrown out if they don't," Puck joked.

"You don't have to protect me."

Waving at passing couple, Puck replied, "Yes, I do," he pressed a kiss to Kurt's temple, "Think you can make it through another hour?"

Kurt sighed, hesitantly taking a sip of champagne and grimacing at the taste, "My stomach hurts."

Solemnly, Puck nodded and offered his arm, "I'll introduce you around," he leaned closer and threatened, "For god's sake, at least pretend to look happy."

Kurt gasped at the quiet command, then frowned and took the crook of his arm, following closely as Puck maneuvered them through the crowd. They approached an elderly—rich—couple and Kurt tried his best to smile, the collar of his shirt suddenly feeling tighter.

Puck gently pushed the brunet in front of him, keeping a hand on his lower back, "Everyone, I want you to meet Kurt Hummel, our new swan prince," he grinned, flaunting off his prize, "Kurt, this is Mr. and Mrs. Fabray."

The elderly woman, her face caked in make-up, held out a bony hand, adorned with heavy jewelry, "A pleasure, my dear," Kurt bowed his head and took her hand.

"Nice to finally see a young face, Noah," Mr. Fabray added, eyeing Kurt up and down before licking his lips, much to the younger man's dismay, "How old?" Noticing Kurt's discomfort, Puck gently gripped his arm and forced a smile.

"Excuse us for a moment." He led the brunet away from the couple, and once out of earshot, "Ignore him—he's a pig, but one of our biggest sponsors. I apologize."

Kurt nodded and took a sip of his drink, "It's fine." They stopped at the stairs and Kurt watched Puck grip his glass, angrily, avoiding Kurt's eyes. "Noah, it's okay," he soothed, smoothing the older man's tux-suit, "Don't be mad…"

"And he should know better, he has a daughter your age—he should know better." Kurt nodded and stood on his toes to kiss Puck's lips, hoping to avoid any conflicts. "Come," smiling, Puck led him up the staircase to the landing, overlooking the lobby.

Eyes wide, Kurt nervously watched the crowd intermingle below and Puck caressed his face, "Stand up straight," he chided, "Chin high." He stood behind Kurt and placed a hand on his back, "Remember, you're a prince now."

Kurt took another sip of champagne and followed his instructions, his stomach tightening. Puck held his hand and faced the room.

"Everyone, your attention, please!" Below, the guests looked up at them, hundreds of eyes gazing at once. Kurt took a large gulp of his drink, gripping Puck's hand tighter in apprehension. "Please, excuse the interruption. Undoubtedly, I'm sure by now many of you have heard the news of our former dancer's departure. Rachel Berry has accepted the offer to dance for the Mariinsky Ballet in Russia." At the soft, applause, Kurt felt his heart drop. He was still convinced that she had decided to leave the company because of him.

"But as we say 'adieu' to one Odette, we welcome another. You may have noticed this dazzling creature by my side," Puck grinned, running a thumb over Kurt's hand as he blushed and looked away from the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you our new star, Kurt Hummel." There was some restrained, polite applause. "Bow," Puck whispered to Kurt.

Kurt stepped forward and gracefully bowed his head, a genuine smile coming to his face as the applause grew. His eyes scanned the crowd.

Puck continued, "Soon, you will all have the pleasure of seeing him perform in our all-new production of _Swan Lake_," he raised his glass, "Tonight, we toast to him," the rest of the room followed, "To all of you, to Rachel's wonderful transition, to Kurt's thrilling debut, and to the light and dark in all of us," he clinked his glass with Kurt's and downed his drink. Kurt followed. Puck smiled at him, approvingly, and kissed him on the mouth then offered his arm. Bashfully closing his eyes, Kurt smiled and took Puck's arm, following him down the stairs into the horde.

The sponsors and guests surrounded him, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek, offering their hands, and Kurt did his best to preserve a smile, despite there being so many of them. Somehow, he lost Puck in the scuffle. Finally overwhelmed, Kurt politely excused himself from the crowd, pushing his way toward the bathroom.

* * *

><p>Hidden away from the zealous crowd in a bathroom, Kurt stared, disapprovingly, at an open gash in the cuticle of his middle finger. He picked at the skin before pumping some liquid soap into his hands and began scrubbing, allowing the water to rinse it down the drain; however the peeling only continued to bother him. He bit down on his lip and started pulling the piece of skin. The abrupt knock on the door, or the sting in his finger, made him flinch.<p>

"Just a second!" he cried in a shaken voice, his forehead clammy with sweat. He ignored the pounding on the door and continued to pull the loose skin back, whimpering as he tore a thick layer all the way to the knuckle, "Oh my god…" Blood gushed from the wound and dripped into the sink, turning some of the water a dark red color. "I said: Just a second!" He tore his eyes away from his hand to shout at whoever was on the other side of the door.

His eyes widened in bewilderment when he looked at his finger, which was clear of any blood or abrasions, as was the sink. In fact, the loose skin seemed to be back in place, as if Kurt never touched it at all. He nervously glanced up at his reflection in the mirror and proceeded to finish up, wondering if his mind had been playing tricks on him again. He was way too tired to be here, whether Puck wanted him to or not.

Turning off the faucet and drying his hands, he regained his composure and attempted a smile in the mirror. He held his chin high, and stalked to the exit, unlocking and opening the door. "Come on, open the fuck up!" Mike had his fist raised, about to bang on it again. His face brightened when Kurt emerged, "Hey!"

Kurt smiled and avoided his eyes, "Sorry."

"No, it's totally cool!" Mike said, "Forgive me—that was rude. I just had like four glasses of wine and I kinda have to—

"Right," Kurt interrupted and stepped to the side, allowing him to enter, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, thanks," Mike grabbed his arm—what was with everyone doing that to him lately? Sure, he might have been smaller than everyone else and he and Puck were sort of dating but that didn't give anyone else the right to shove and grab and throw him around like a ragdoll. He had to deal with enough of that in high school. Why should he have to continue to put up with it? Regardless, he turned to Mike, interested in what he had to say, "And hey, I think you looked great up there—during the toast. Despite all of the rehearsals and stuff, I'm pretty excited to perform with you."

Kurt courteously smiled again and nodded, "Excuse me..."

He rushed out of the bathroom, leaving Mike to wonder if he'd said anything to somehow offend the brunet. Was he just too shy to engage in friendly conversation? Or was he even aware of the man's sad attempt at flirtation?

Mike shrugged it off, until something on the floor caught his eye.

Curious, he bent down to pick up a single black feather.

* * *

><p>Kurt entered the empty auditorium, most of the house-lights off. The large velvet curtain loomed above the stage—displaying some of the half-finished sets—with a few warm spotlights scattered about. Slowly, Kurt made his way down the aisle, stopping in front of the orchestra pit. Looking around again, he climbed the steps leading up to the stage, in eyes wandering in astonishment at the large space. He smiled, imagining people in the thousands of empty seats, cheering for him…applauding him.<p>

Carefully taking off his tux jacket, he threw it aside, slipping out of his shoes next. He began moving through a routine, closing his eyes while allowing his feet to take him through the steps. Gracefully raising his arms, he hummed the familiar music, twirling about the stage—completely in his own world. For the first time, his movement wasn't controlled. He felt completely at ease with the choreography, once he didn't try so hard to master it.

An abrupt applause broke his concentration and he opened his eyes, he stopped dancing.

"Wh—who's there?"

He stared into the dark wings, gasping when he saw a shadow move.

"Hello?"

Blaine, tipsy and probably coked up on drugs, emerged from the wings, a grin plastered on his face and a glass of wine in his hand, "Hey."

Self-conscious, Kurt slipped his shoes back on and moved to retrieve his jacket, a blush on his cheeks.

"Wait, hey—I'm sorry," Blaine said quickly, "You don't have to stop. I didn't know anyone else was in here."

"Uhm… sorry," Kurt said, avoiding his eyes.

Blaine shook his head, "Don't apologize to me," he was dressed smartly in a tuxedo as well; his black hair slicked back, "That was really pretty."

"Thank you."

"Needed to blow off some steam?"

Kurt nodded, his eyes darting around to figure out an escape route. Aware of this, Blaine smirked.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," he took a drink of his wine, "I'm harmless, I promise. Oh, and look, we can finally have that drink!" he held out the wine glass toward Kurt, who politely declined by shaking his head.

"That's okay."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"It'd make the party less unbearable," Kurt shook his head again, "Suit yourself," another sip, "More for me!" a grin.

Kurt started toward the stairs to walk down into the house, feeling uncomfortable being in the same perimeter of the strange, short man.

"You know, if you need to blow off some steam, then _really _fucking do it!" The brunet turned around, staring at Blaine in disbelief. Blaine scoffed at his expression and downed the rest of his drink. He then kicked off his shoes, smiling as he did so, "What? Don't look at me like I'm retarded! I'm serious—fuck, I'm practically offering you free therapy here!"

Kurt folded his arms, "…and how do you suggest I do that?"

"Duh, dumb-dumb, it's called 'emotional expression'," he said, setting down his wine glass onto the stage.

"Right."

"Ugh, here I'll show you," Blaine walked a ways from Kurt and suddenly launched into the last part of the Big Swan choreography... not at all graceful…and not much effort put into it.

"That's very sloppy-looking," Kurt said with a cringe.

Blaine chuckled, "I bet you can't guess how I'm feeling!"

"You're uhm…unsteady?"

"_Ding, ding, ding!"_ he shouted, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. And then he took a bow, arms outstretched, nearly toppling over, before bursting into a hysterical fit of giggles, "I think I've had way too much to drink," he paused, staring at Kurt indifferently, "Wait, wait, what was your name again? Clark?"

Appalled, Kurt stepped forward, "It's Kurt."

"Right!" Blaine clapped his hand and shook his head, laughing at himself, "I was kidding anyway. Your turn!"

"I don't think—

"_Nooooo!_ No, no, no, no, no!" Blaine drawled, shaking a finger at him, impatiently, "No you don't, mister. C'mere, don't be shy," he held out one of his hands and fell onto his ass, "You get your cute little butt over here and show me one of your dances," he said as he jiggled his hips, "But put all of your emotion and shit into it. Make it fucking count. Let all of your sadness and anger and… muck…or whatever out! Come on!"

Kurt recoiled, hesitant. As a result, Blaine put on his best puppy-dog face—despite the brunet thinking he only looked constipated.

"Please?"

A sigh; Kurt removed his shoes again and Blaine squealed in delight, "Awesome!" He sat back as Kurt began dancing a part of the black swan's pas de deux, just awkwardly going through the motions—not serious at all. Unsatisfied, Blaine shook his head and laughed, "What the hell was _that?_"

Kurt gawked at him, offended by his criticism, "What?"

"Give me a break," the raven-haired man accused, childishly, standing up and folding his arms, "That's not how you feel!"

Embarrassed and agitated at the other man's smug expression, Kurt started again. This time, a lot more heated. He threw all of his pent up emotion and energy into the choreography, making it incredibly intense and fluid, despite its sloppiness. Astonished, Blaine stepped back, smiling at Kurt, and once he stopped, he unfolded his arms and clapped.

"Bravo!"

Kurt smiled, timidly, and gave an adorable little curtsey, "I think that's enough…" he laughed.

* * *

><p><em>Meet in the lobby<em>, Kurt remembered, wrapping up in his coat. He agreed to go home with Puck for the night, but the older man had yet to show up after fifteen minutes, probably schmoozing with more sponsors. A few people were out in the lobby, but besides them, he was the only one left in the large space.

In the very middle of the room stood a full-sized statue—brooding on a perch.

He watched the dark sculpture, a giant bird, skeptically. Though it remained completely still, there was something so sinister about it, as if he'd seen it before…in a dream maybe. Perhaps it was the shape of its crooked beak. Maybe it was its spread wings. Maybe it was even its human-like shape.

Just as he turned around to re-enter the theatre and look for Puck: "That was some show earlier." Kurt immediately recognized the scathing voice, _"You may have noticed this dazzling creature by my side,"_ it mocked.

"What are you doing here, Rachel?" Kurt said, his cheeks turning red in shame.

"What am _I _doing?" she scoffed, flicking an invisible piece of lint from her blue-grey Grecian-style, one-shoulder Versace gown. The slit, ending at the thigh, showed off her toned legs. Kurt realized that this was the first time in a week that he'd see her, noting that she looked absolutely radiant, as if she stepped out onto a red carpet—however, she was alarmingly drunk, "You say that like I haven't carried this company on my shoulders for the past ten years—you should be thanking me," she took a sip of wine, glaring at Kurt in disgust, "I simply came to support everyone—and wish _you_, especially, a _spectacular _season."

With little patience to put up with her shit at the moment, Kurt closed his eyes and faked a smile, "Thank you, Rachel," he said, sarcastically.

Rachel smirked, "Did he give you my dressing room yet?"

If he had known she'd attend, he wouldn't have come. Hell, he would have at least taken the opportunity—before the toast—to find her and perhaps mend their friendship, but with her malicious remarks, the chance seemed vague. Two could play at that game: "I'm so sorry you're leaving the company."

"Awe… Are you now?" she cooed, sneeringly, "How sentimental of you."

"I never meant to hurt you," Kurt said, honestly, "Why are you still angry? I have no intentions of stealing Noah—

"Fuck Noah!" she roared, "This isn't about him—I'm trying to keep _you _from getting hurt!"

Blue eyes widened in misunderstanding, "I don't know what you're talking about…"

"Just…" she paused, scoping the area in case anyone happened to eavesdrop on them, "Just…please walk away. Drop out..."

Horrified, Kurt backed away, "What?"

"Let Jesse—hell, even Blaine—let one of them be the swan prince!" Kurt rolled his eyes. Was this her idea of "reasoning" with him? Insulting and then persuading him to leave the show? "Kurt, I could never live with myself if it happened to you—you don't—I mean—anyone but _you! _I know what it's like!"

"What is the matter with you?"

Rachel stormed up to him and clutched his arm, her eyes bulging out in misery as she screamed in his face, _"Are you fucking stupid?"_

"You're jealous!" Kurt fumed, as he tried to pry his arm away, wincing at her death grip.

"_What?" _

"You never cared about me," Kurt accused, "You're just jealous that you're too _old_ to play Odette!"

"I don't care about Noah _OR _the role—don't you get it?" Dropping her wine glass in favor of gripping his upper arms, she cried, _"_Listen to me: _I'm trying to help you!"_

He cried out as shards of glass spread out onto the floor. The rouge liquid spilled onto him. Kurt thought he saw a flash of madness in her eyes as he felt Rachel digging her nails into his skin through layers of clothing. She proceeded to shake him, her face turning a dark hue of red.

"Let go of me," he demanded, "You're out of your _**fucking**__ mind!"_

"_What the hell is going on here?"_ In protective-mode, Puck stomped up to the pair, violently ripping the smaller girl away from Kurt, "What are you doing to him? What are you saying?"

"Listen, I have to talk to you" Rachel tugged the front of his coat, and he winced at the stench of alcohol on her breath, "Noah, please tell him… For the love of god, choose someone else! Don't let It take him!"

Annoyed, Puck pulled away from her, smoothing his suit and rolling his eyes, "You're drunk—and we're leaving, come on Kurt," he said, gently taking the brunet's hand into his and leading him away from the hysterical woman.

"Don't you walk away from me! You know what I'm talking about, Puck—you're a heartless fucking bastard! _You know what It does to people!_"

"Good night, Rachel."

"There'll always be someone younger—prettier—than you to come along," she seethed at Kurt, "You're nothing special!"

Allowing Puck to drag him away, Kurt turned back to her, betrayal and pain in his eyes. He genuinely wished nothing but the best for his now former best friend, but it was difficult pretending to be kind when she repeatedly tore him down just for her sick benefit, "Good luck in Russia, Rachel."

"Fine!" she screeched, "Enjoy it, _little prince_!"

Kurt couldn't shake the feeling that, rather than saying all of that just to be cruel, she might have been sending him a warning.

* * *

><p>Kurt eyed all of the artwork on the walls from his position on Puck's bed, his tuxedo coat draped around a sofa a few feet away. Puck emerged from the bathroom, his white shirt open and his bow tie loosened. Shamefully, Kurt looked away and rubbed his arms. The cab-ride back to his director's apartment was completely silent. Kurt hadn't a clue what the frantic woman was going on about, and he didn't <em>want<em> to know. He reassured himself that it was only her jealousy—for being cast as the swan prince, for dating Puck—and that the older man wasn't hiding something from him. She obviously had some serious mental issues, and Kurt was way too stressed to worry about them.

"Kurt."

He looked up and sought out Puck's eyes in the dimly-lit room, "Hmm?"

"What's on your mind?"

In no mood for conversation, Kurt shrugged, "I don't know."

Puck sat down on the bed next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You were wonderful tonight," he said, "They tried to eat you alive but here you are in one piece, right?"

Kurt nodded, smiling a bit, "I was okay."

"My survivor," Puck said, nuzzling him, "My little prince."

Blushing, Kurt turned away.

"Don't think about them." Kurt closed his eyes, bowing his head, "Don't think about _her_."

"Noah—

"I don't want there to be any boundaries between us."

Tenderly, Puck pressed a gentle kiss to Kurt's neck, one hand moving to massage his upper-thigh, the other undoing the buttons of his dress-shirt. Kurt remained still, nervous—unsure of whether or not he was ready to move forward with the older man. Aware that his hands were placed on either side of his thighs, he lifted one, slowly bringing it to touch Puck's face, moaning as his lips sucked and kissed sensitive points on his neck.

Gently pushing Kurt into a lying-position on the mattress, Puck moved to his knees, swiftly pulling the belt from Kurt's hips, and immediately hardened at the sight of the red laced underwear—the one he'd specifically picked out for his boy—Kurt's throbbing member practically begging to pop out any second. Hungrily, Puck dove face-first into the fabric, tonguing and nipping at Kurt's skin through the material while, concurrently, pulling the dark slacks from pale, toned legs. He removed his own shirt and stared lustfully at the young man beneath him, now only in the white shirt, unbuttoned down to his navel, and lace briefs, "So beautiful," he sighed.

Petrified, Kurt moved to sit up, "Wait—

A hand shot out to keep him in place, "Do you trust me?" after a moment's thought, Kurt merely nodded his head 'yes,' shivering as rough hands stroked his thighs but suddenly tightened their grip at the nod. "Say it," Puck ordered, "I want to hear you."

"Yes," Kurt breathed, gripping Puck's hand in his own, "Yes, Noah…"

He nearly missed the glimpse of uncertainty in Puck's eyes, which had softened for a moment at the confession. Gently, he guided Puck's hand to the bulge in his briefs, "Plea—" stifling a gasp as the large hand forcefully cupped his balls, then proceeded to massage them, softly.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Puck cooed, leaning over to kiss his thigh before positioning his hand so that his thumb rubbed Kurt while his larger middle finger slipped into the crease and teased his little hole, hiding beneath the lace. Again, Puck pressed his mouth against Kurt's pelvis. A gentle nibble caused the brunet to arch his back, lifting his hips in order for Puck to slowly tug the briefs down his legs. He smirked at the thin bridge of pre-cum stuck to the waistband and immediately caught it with his tongue before pressing another kiss to Kurt's skin.

Removing his shirt, Kurt raised a leg, now a faint shade of red, slipping it through the underwear. Puck leaned forward again and slipped the tip of the leaking member into his mouth. Kurt bucked his hips, allowing his heels to rest on Puck's back, his hands moving past his head to fist the sheets. He shuddered at the feeling of warmth surrounding his cock, long tan fingers fondling his sac, and he no longer doubted that Puck had experience in something like this. He knew he wasn't very large, but he was no less amazed that the older man could swallow the entire shaft at once.

It didn't take more than a few licks and a pump of Puck's fist around his cock before he felt a small tinge in his lower back, "Noah…" With a soft cry, he arched upward, fingers wrapping around the sheets as he released his warm fluid into Puck's mouth.

Eventually, Puck's lips moved over his thigh, sucking and licking down to the pink ring of muscle between the red mounds of flesh. Kurt held a breath as the older man's tongue flicked against his asshole, suddenly slipping past the muscle and out again, _"Noah…!" _he cried, shuddering as Puck lapped at his hole as if it were his last meal. He tossed his head back, mewling while the skillful man tongue-fucked him. As he bit his lip, his little hand lowered to wrap around his cock, but retreated as a larger one slapped it away, possessively, "Please…"

The hand gripped him, almost painfully, and began pumping him again. Kurt writhed on the bed, moaning at the feeling of his lover's tongue darting in and out of him, plus the aching grasp on his member—never in his life had Kurt felt something as intense as this—

There was no warning before he felt a single finger quickly enter him. However he couldn't move his torso as Puck, who now appeared over him with a predatory glint in his hazel eyes, held a strong hand down against his stomach, his other hand now snaking its fingers in and out and in and out of Kurt—every now and then curling upwards to brush the bundle of nerves—before slipping in a second finger…eventually a third, prepping him for something even _larger_. Eagerly, Puck palmed himself through his slacks, the material grazing his sensitive tip. By now, he was completely rock-hard, watching Kurt with an intense gaze. He removed his fingers and stuck them between Kurt's lips, ordering the brunet to suck. This went on for a few minutes before he withdrew and allowed Kurt's barely-loosened asshole to swallow his fingers again.

In a split second, Puck was out of his trousers—apparently, he'd decided to go full commando for the party—and reached over to his dresser to pull out a golden wrapper. Kurt stared at him in apprehension, his mouth going dry at the size of Puck's girth. His dick stood at attention, uncut, probably no less than nine inches. Swiftly, Puck tore the wrapper open with his teeth and pulled the latex over his throbbing, veiny cock, pinching the tip. He lay between Kurt's thighs, lining himself up to the young man's puckered entrance and placed his hands on either side of his head. Dark hazel eyes peered into striking baby-blue ones.

Kurt saw adoration…possessiveness. Maybe even lov—

"Are you ready?"

Biting down on his lip, and hesitantly shifting his eyes, he nodded.

"Look at me, Kurt," Puck gripped his chin, forcing the brunet to face him, "You have to tell let me know—I won't continue if you don't say it."

_Look at him, Kurt_.

"Just say the word, and I promise I'll stop."

Finally, he opened his eyes and nodded, "Yes," he breathed, his grip on Puck's biceps tightening, "Go ahead."

With a sharp thrust, only his engorged tip entered Kurt's wet little hole, stopping immediately after Kurt drew a sharp breath and clenched his eyes shut, the pain unbearable, "Baby, look at me…" a skeptical Kurt opened his eyes and whimpered when Puck kissed him softly, "I'd never hurt you."

Trusting Puck, he wrapped his arms around his broad neck, one heel digging into his back while the other rested on his shoulder. The older man pushed himself in further and further until he was buried balls-deep. Kurt moaned, his eyes glazing over at the discomfort and his toes curling. He ran his hands up and down Puck's back, feeling himself being stretched open. Without stopping his movement, Puck removed the small hands from his shoulders with one large one and held them in place above Kurt's head.

The room was silent, save for Kurt's barely-audible moans, his mouth wide-open, and the headboard pounding against the wall.

Puck repeatedly forced himself into the smaller body, lowering his mouth to lick and pinch at Kurt's hardened nipples. He brushed a hand through brown hair, staring deep into his eyes while sharply thrusting his hips forward.

Puck removed his thick cock and lifted Kurt's leg, throwing him onto his stomach. With a gasp, Kurt gripped the pillow next to his head, suddenly terrified of what the man would do to him next, and shifted it underneath his belly. He wanted to be on his back again. At least he felt a _little_ at ease as he stared longingly into Puck's eyes.

"Get on your knees," Puck commanded. In less than a second, Kurt did exactly as told, afraid of the repercussions should he disobey any order, but held onto the pillow, subtly rutting against it.

Tan fingers spread open plump, pink cheeks, kneading them like dough. Puck licked the moist hole before sliding his tongue back into the moaning brunet.

Kurt arched his back, grasping the pillow as Puck buried his entire face into the crease. It didn't take long until he repositioned himself. His eyes caught sight of the reddish marks on the young man's shoulder—which now looked like four finger nails had clawed at the skin.

"Have you been scratching yourself?" he inquired, running a finger over it. Kurt shrugged him off and bucked his hips against him, worried that the rash had gotten worse. He'd have to look at it later.

"No," he whimpered, "Keep going."

Now dubious at his behavior, the older man suddenly pushed himself into Kurt. The brunet winced each time Puck entered him, rough hands massaging either side of his hips while a strong chest pressed against his back. He felt teeth tug at the skin on his neck, a warm breath over his ear, and a slimy tongue along his back.

What felt like an eternity was merely only half an hour before Puck collapsed on top of Kurt with a loud grunt, his lower back shuddering as he spurted into the condom a few minutes after Kurt shot into his hand. "Fuck…" Their bodies glistened with sweat in the meager lamplight. Puck removed his hand from Kurt's pulsating cock and allowed the younger man to lick it clean, tensing at he felt the whimpering boy clench around him in reflex.

"_Mmh_, Noah…"

After Kurt finally relaxed from his spasms, Puck slowly pulled out of him, earning a gasp from the young dancer, "Are you all right?" Watching him crawl over to one side of the bed and curl into a fetal position, he felt proud being the one to take Kurt's virginity.

Ever since the young, ambitious dancer stepped foot into the audition room four years prior, there was something…something that triggered inside of Puck, wanting to pursue the male, care for him, break him, protect him, love him. And even now, he knew very little about Kurt outside of rehearsals, about his family, the company he kept—however, his timidity was one of the many things he found so alluring about the brunet.

Many of the other dancers practically threw themselves at his feet, not-so-subtly begging for the man's attention. Sure, every now and then Kurt would take a moment to visit him in his office, bringing him tiny trinkets and such—but Puck figured that was just his gratuity for often coaching the dancer, accepting him into the company. He knew the young man wanted to make him proud by working extremely hard, so it came as a shock to him when Kurt boldly showed up two weeks ago, begging for the part of the swan prince—before biting him, of course.

Did he feel bad about seducing Kurt only a few weeks after breaking it off with Rachel, a relationship that had gone on for years?

Not really.

Fuck that proud bitch for being so damned conceited. Her transfer to the Mariinsky company in Russia would do them both—and the rest of the company—some good.

Puck pressed an affectionate kiss to Kurt's cheek before climbing off of the bed and striding into the bathroom. After throwing the condom into the toilet, he slid back into bed beside Kurt, taking in his beautiful appearance, "Look at me." Kurt turned around, slightly puzzled. Puck trailed his tongue against his lips, groaning with pleasure as he sucked on the red, bruised organs.

"Thank you," Kurt said, bashfully.

'Thank you?' Puck thought, 'for what? Taking your virginity?' He chuckled and turned off the lamp behind him before pulling the blanket over their nude bodies, "Good night my little prince."

The moon served as the only light in the bedroom.

* * *

><p>After what seemed like hours, Kurt opened his eyes, gasping in confusion at the nude figure lying asleep next to him.<p>

Puck.

He realized that he was still curled up next to his company director—and possible boyfriend—in his bed, the sheets still a bit damp with the faint smell of sweat and cum.

Shaken, he pushed the thought out of his mind for the moment before looking over at the nightstand: the clock read '2 A.M.' Careful not to wake the older man, Kurt pushed the satin sheets from his bare torso—he'd have to search for his clothing in the dark—but froze as he felt Puck stir beside him. Fortunately, he didn't wake, and Kurt supposed he looked a lot less stressed while sleeping.

The very thought brought a smile to the brunet's face as he watched Puck's chest rise and fall. His bare feet grazed the hardwood floor and he almost crawled back into bed, annoyed at how chilly the floor felt. _No_. He needed to get out of there now. Not to mention that Finn was probably worried about him.

He stood up before stumbling a bit, his knees feeling weak. Puck had been a far too rough—pinching him, groping him, scratching him; the sensual, barbaric way he repeatedly slammed into his body—despite it being Kurt's first time. But during…he felt loved, wanted—the way Puck's toned arms held him close the entire time, his lips never leaving the younger man's pale skin even as they switched into various positions. His feet brushed against something soft on the floor—Puck's dress shirt.

Figuring that this would suffice, at least until he could have it dry-cleaned and returned to Puck, Kurt slipped his arms through the sleeves; the cuffs went past his finger tips. His eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the dark and he almost tripped over his pants. He stumbled but caught himself on the sofa—making little noise. He quickly slipped his legs into the slacks, and searched the floor for his belt, watching Puck's form as he did so. Eventually, he found his belt, his shoes, the tux jacket, and his coat.

With another longing glance back at Puck, Kurt proceeded to tip-toe out of the apartment, suffering a limp along the way. Luckily, he was able to hail a taxi.

He doubted that he'd be able to bear the walk-of-shame to the nearest subway station, nearly ten blocks away.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ****First sex scene I've written. Ever. Wow. Let me know what you think! I had thoughts about splitting this chapter up, since it went over my 6000 word-per-chapter limit. Because of that, scenes that were originally supposed to show up in this chapter will take place in the next.  
><strong>

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Part V

**Title: **Mourir pour la danse

**Author: **L3af Con3yb3ar

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **AU, OOC, Explicit Sexual Content, Dub-Con, Crude Language, Cross-dressing, Graphic Violence, Character Deaths

**Characters: **Kurt Hummel, Noah Puckerman, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Jesse St. James, Mike Chang, and others

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Black Swan, Glee, Swan Lake_, or anything affiliated.

**Part Five**

Oddly barren and quiet, Kurt passed his dressing room and continued down the hall, a slight limp in his step. A worried Finn questioned him the night before about his whereabouts once he got home. Defensive, Kurt lashed out at him, claiming the party went on later than he'd thought—

"_And anyway, why is it any of your business where I go?"_

After locking himself in his bedroom, he then stripped out of the suit—and Puck's shirt—and crawled into his bathtub, turning the water to scolding hot. His skin was still a light hint of red from the temperature of the water and from scratching at his body. He was horrified to find that the scratch on his shoulder had gotten a lot worse.

Part of him enjoyed his night with Puck. The other part felt filthy…mortified.

The very last thing he wanted was to attend rehearsal the next day, in fear of facing his director and the thought of what he would say to him. Ahead, he spotted two corps members. "There's a meeting in studio 82," one said before the pair passed him. Kurt nodded his thanks, continuing down the hall. Some of the other dancers stood outside and as he got closer, he could pick up bits and pieces of their conversation.

"…fired…apparently…"

"…stupid bitch."

"…obviously_…knows…fucking Puck…"_

Kurt's heart began to race.

"…_damn shame,"_ he heard another say, "Embarrassing really…"

His breathing stopped and he slunk into the rehearsal space. Could they have known? Did Puck tell them, out of spite, that he slept with him for the role? Was that some common rumor within the company already?

There were murmurs amongst the company when he entered. Blaine leaned against the wall, right next to the door, and tapped Kurt on the shoulder, "Hey, buddy. Did you get home okay?"

Kurt gestured to everyone else, "What's going on?" Blaine shrugged and took his hand.

"No idea, let's find out." He directed them toward Jesse, who stood with Santana nearby. Kurt backed away, reluctant to join the pair who'd take any chance to verbally slit his throat—again. Blaine gave him a look of understanding and walked up to them, alone. "What's happening?"

Jesse diverted his gaze to Kurt and gave him a catty stare. "Someone else is either retired, fired," he smirked, "…or dead."

Blaine rolled his eyes in exasperation, "That's very nice."

"It's true," Santana spoke up this time, "Look."

The four turned to the door and watched as Puck entered, followed by the rest of his support staff. He passed Kurt, stopping to give him a cold, unreadable stare. He _was_ angry. Kurt looked away from him in shame as the director stalked to the middle of the room. The rest of the company formed a semi-circle around him.

"Everyone," he sighed, "I regret to inform you that Rachel Berry is in the hospital."

There were gasps and murmurs throughout the room.

"She had a…near-fatal accident last night."

Assuming the worst, Kurt gasped, clutching a hand to his pounding heart. He tuned out the rest of what Puck was saying, his mind instantly going back to his last meeting with Rachel the night before. Was it _just _an accident? Had she done something drastic because of him? Blaine watched him with a weary gaze, reluctant to approach him with comfort.

"…is cancelled for the rest of the day. Please keep Rachel in your thoughts and prayers."

* * *

><p>Kurt exhaled again, brushing his knuckles together. Alone, he sat outside on the fountain, his bag at his side. If he went home now, Finn would question him, and he didn't want to deal with any of that after hearing his former best friend was hospitalized. He didn't hear Puck quietly approach and take seat next to him.<p>

"I think we have to talk."

"I know you're furious with me, Noah, but could you please spare me the lecture for another day?" Kurt pleaded, shutting his eyes and blocking out the stifling smell of nicotine. "I'm really not in the mood and I already feel bad about last night."

"Fair enough," Puck said, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"What happened to her?"

Puck put out his cigarette on the edge of the fountain, "She walked into the street and got hit by a car."

"Oh, god."

"Can I be honest?" Kurt nodded and Puck continued, lowering his voice, "I'm almost sure she did it on purpose."

Baffled, the brunet stared at Puck, his hands shaking, "How can you be sure?"

"Because everything Rachel does comes from within…" Puck said, some incomprehension in his tone, "from… some dark impulse."

_Don't let It take him._

"I guess that's what makes her so thrilling to watch," he continued. Kurt had no reply.

What was she thinking? Could this have happened right after they encountered her at the benefit? Was Puck right? Did she really try to destroy herself on purpose? His face grew paler. He felt colder.

"_This is all my fault…"_ Kurt whispered, his voice hitching, "I shouldn't have… taken the role from her like that, she was so upset yesterday."

Rough hands gently caressed soft, pale skin, "That isn't true," Puck comforted, "This has _nothing_ to do with you."

Kurt shook his head, not believing a single word.

"This is your moment, Kurt. I don't want you to let yourself get distracted."

"Why me?" Kurt asked, "Why did you choose me?"

Puck knew that he pushed Kurt too hard, but only because he wanted to challenge him—to watch the dancer challenge himself, "Because deep down I _know_ that you can do it." He smirked at the slight blush on the young dancer's cheeks and wiped away the tears that started to fall, "I'm sure your family is really proud of you."

"Ballet isn't the sort of thing my step-brother really cares about," Kurt confessed.

"And your parents?"

Kurt froze, weary of answering, "They…" He swallowed before continuing, in a shaky whisper: "They're dead."

Puck watched him with an unreadable appearance.

"It was a little while before I moved here with my brother. I went to a performing arts high school—I studied ballet there. And I was having a recital. My dad and Carol—my stepmom—they were supposed to come. And for _weeks _I kept going on and on and on about how important it was to me that they were there. They even missed Finn's art fair for me. And on the way to the theatre, they got into a really bad car accident."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"It wasn't your fault, you know that right?"

"Finn doesn't seem to agree. It's pathetic but I have this sinking feeling that that's the reason why he resents me so much," he laughed, bitterly, "I think he blames me. He won't admit it but I'm not an idiot."

"He's the idiot."

"You know a lot more about a person by what they don't say."

Puck wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "I must have re-opened a painful wound that day of the auditions then, huh?"

Kurt had almost forgotten about that. "You didn't know."

"That doesn't make it okay," Puck said, pressing a kiss to his temple.

* * *

><p>With a small, cheap bouquet of purple lilies in hand, Kurt emerged from the elevator and padded down the hospital corridor, Rachel's room number fresh in his mind. He approached a heavy-set nurse and tapped her on the shoulder.<p>

"Excuse me; do know where I can find Room 829?"

The pudgy nurse turned and pointed down a stark hallway, "Right down there."

"Thank you."

The door to Room 829 was slightly ajar and Kurt slowly stepped inside. His movement stilled at the sight of Rachel, pale and unconscious, and attached to machines. He noticed many large bouquets of flowers sat by her bedside. Nervous, he hesitated before approaching her bed, paling at the sight of her gaunt face, the dark rings around her eyes, and the bruises along her arms. A few bandages covered some wounds on her skin, and her lips were a deathly shade.

"Oh, Rachel…"

Slightly shaking his head, Kurt shut his eyes, exhaling before turning to the side of the room. Dozens and dozens of expensive-looking bouquets were already aligned on the table, presumably from other members of the company. Curiosity got the best of him and he scanned some of the cards to see who each was from. He looked down at his own meager flowers, ashamed at his attempt of support. With his back turned to block his action, he took the card from his bouquet, furtively switching it with another nicer one. He looked up to see the fat nurse from before glaring at him from the doorway.

Kurt set the flimsy bouquet of lilies down and approached Rachel's bedside, unsure if he'd been caught. Thankfully, the nurse had walked away.

He reached out to touch Rachel's face, sorrow coursing through him. With a growing pang of dread in his chest, he gently lifted the blanket from her side and recoiled in horror. From the knee down, her leg was completely gone, a bandage wrapped around the stub.

Unable to breathe or think straight, Kurt choked and fell to his knees in hysterical agony, grasping the sheet and pulling it back over her body. He dug his palms into his eyes, and closed a hand over his mouth, stifling his sobs.

"Oh, god, forgive me… _Please_ forgive me…" he pleaded, unsure if he was speaking to Rachel or God…whomever… "What have I done?"

After a minutes of grieving, Kurt dried his now bloodshot eyes and stood up, braving one last look at Rachel's face. He quickly exited the room, shutting the door after him. Down the hall, the nurse continued to watch him with a distrustful gaze.

Uneasy, Kurt sped toward the elevators.

* * *

><p>Days later, after hours of practice, Puck sat in the audience space of a large rehearsal studio, watching Mike and Kurt rehearse the OdileSiegfried pas de deux with scrutinizing eyes. Accompanied by a small orchestra aligned in the back, the two moved through the choreography.

It seemed, despite weeks of rehearsals, that Kurt still had trouble letting himself go—becoming the black swan. Unsatisfied, Puck shook his head, signaling for the music to stop. With a hand running over his face, he took a deep breath.

"Mike, I have a question for you," he said, "And be honest with me."

"Of course," the Asian male said, arms folding.

Puck gestured to Kurt, "Would you fuck him?"

"What?"

The question seemed out of character, even for Puck, "That's what I thought. No one would."

This was a _new_ low for their director, Kurt thought. Not once had he brought up their night together, and this seemed to be a jab at his bed experience, as well as his dancing. Perhaps Rachel was right. Maybe he _was_ completely wrong for the role.

* * *

><p>Alone in his dressing room, Kurt cried for probably the fifth time in days. He still felt guilty for what had happened to Rachel, things at home between he and Finn were getting worse, and his latest embarrassing dispute with Puck had absolutely shattered him.<p>

He was sick of the director endlessly picking on him. The vicious criticism seemed to crush his self-esteem rather than help improve his dancing. Lately, he couldn't predict whether Puck would shower him with attention and praise or tear him down.

Then it hit him: Did Puck regret sleeping with him?

Disgusted with himself and exhausted from the long day, Kurt proceeded to unlace his pointe slipper and throw them into his bag.

"Knock, knock…"

The sharp rapping at his dressing room door made Kurt's head snapped toward the doorway, where Blaine stood, dance bag in hand and an un-lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Are you okay?"

The brunet ignored him, zipping himself into his hoodie, "You aren't allowed to smoke in here."

"Well, I won't tell if you won't," Blaine teased and entered the dressing room, closing the door after him. He awed at the small space, impressed with the decoration, before sitting on the couch, "The perks of being a star…"

Silence.

"So, the big day's getting closer and closer. How do you feel?"

Kurt glanced at him, in no mood for conservation. He continued changing into his street-shoes.

Blaine continued, "I can't wait—I know you're going to be amazing."

"Thanks," the brunet's eyes brimmed with tears, and he hurriedly wiped them away.

A few minutes of silence passed before Blaine spoke again.

"So…do you want to talk about it?"

As Blaine watched on in pity, Kurt shook his head before a sob escaped his lips. He covered his face, ashamed for breaking down in front of the other male. His voice hitched, "I just had a really hard day."

"Old boy playing a little too rough for you?"

"I'm so stressed…"

Blaine got off the couch and crouched down in front of Kurt, rubbing his knee in comfort, "Come on, Kurt, don't cry. He's a prick."

"No…" Kurt shook his head again, "He's brilliant."

"Yeah," the raven-haired man scoffed, "Sure, but it's not like he's all warm and fuzzy."

"You don't know him," the younger man challenged, a little too forcefully.

Blaine raised his eyebrows in interest and bit his bottom lip, "It sounds like someone's hot for teacher."

"Shut up."

"Well, I don't blame you…" Blaine trailed off.

Annoyed, Kurt threw the rest of his belongings into his bag.

"Come on, I was just kidding."

Kurt ignored him, stood up and stalked out of the dressing room, even as Blaine called his name.

* * *

><p>Outside, Kurt held an arm out, attempting to flag down a cab. No such luck. Tonight seemed to be the coldest night of the winter, and he could feel a tingle in his throat.<p>

"Going home?"

Kurt turned around, and flushed in embarrassment, his heart racing as Puck stood before him. He politely nodded, eyes looking elsewhere rather than his director's eyes.

"Why don't you come to my place?"

_And then what?_

"No, thank you," the brunet politely declined, turning away from him. He fixed the scarf around his neck, unaware that Puck had stepped closer to him, sensing his discomfort.

"If it's because I was so crass with you earlier," Puck said, "I apologize."

Kurt shrugged, "Doesn't matter."

"Is it because of her?"

Blue eyes met hazel ones.

"I've told you not to blame yourself," Puck grasped his arms, "She did it to herself. It's not your fault."

Kurt shrugged him off, walking a little ways from him, "It just doesn't feel right."

Puck scoffed, "So, you're being the _good friend_ now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she didn't exactly treat you like one. She was never a good friend to you—

"Yes, she was."

"Oh, really?" there was a humored tone in Puck's voice, "You should have heard the things she said about you."

Kurt hardened, and bit his lip, "What did she say?"

Puck shrugged, "Terrible things… She called you a whore…accused you of seducing your way into the role."

"That isn't true…" Kurt's voice wavered and he shook his head, offended.

"See?" Puck reasoned, "She was out of her mind."

"Just stop it," the brunet countered, walking away from him toward the corner of the block, "That's enough…"

"Kurt!"

"Just leave me alone!"

Puck chased after him and grabbed his arm, pulling him back toward his chest, "Baby, I'm sorry."

"I'm going home."

"Come on, I shouldn't have said anyth—

Kurt wrenched his arm free and held a shaking finger at Puck's face, his jaw slightly quivering, "From now on, I want our relationship to remain strictly professional." The older man's face darkened as Kurt continued, "Whatever happened, happened. But it's over. You might be my director but you do not have the right to treat me like some common whore or attack my insecurities."

"Fine," the director broke away from him and nodded his head, stuffing a hand into his coat pocket, "Fine, fair enough. Let me grab you a taxi." He raised his hand out toward the street, and then lowered it as a cab came to a stop in front of them. He stepped off the curb and opened the door for Kurt.

"Goodn—

Vindictively, Puck slammed it shut, a glower of displeasure flashing across his face. "Go fuck yourself."

Shocked and bewildered, Kurt watched him walk off, head bowed, not even paying attention to the cab as it slowly pulled off.

* * *

><p>Back at his apartment, Kurt lay completely still in his bathtub, staring up at the bathroom ceiling. His mind reflected back to Puck and how he acted after Kurt suggested they keep their relationship professional. He didn't expect him to react the way he did. He didn't even intend to hurt him at all.<p>

Could the older man really feel something more for him?

Still, Puck had no right to throw Rachel's accident or her resentment toward Kurt in his face. Every minute, every second, he was reminded of it. When Puck brought it up, it stung. And then what he'd asked Mike at rehearsal…

He contemplated getting out of the bathtub, rushing to his cell phone and calling him, maybe to apologize.

Maybe just talk.

Part of him wanted to hear Puck's voice again, regardless if they hated each other at the moment.

Further thoughts of the handsome man stirred some growth in his lower region, and he slowly reached down to grasp his erection. The pink flesh slipped through his fist. One… two tugs… and he suddenly stopped, ashamed and guilty.

Pathetic.

Kurt closed his eyes and slid underneath the soapy water.

As he tried to pull his head out, he felt as if he couldn't move, as if someone or something was pressing down on his shoulders, attempting to keep him underneath—attempting to drown him. Aghast, he blinked again and to his horror, a pale figure stared back at him, eyes red and bloodshot. Kurt began thrashing his body, letting out a shriek. As water entered his lungs, he shut his eyes and opened them again, sharply raising his body up from beneath the water.

He choked, gasping for air, and began coughing up water onto the tiled floor. It took all of his strength to pull himself out of the bathtub. Terrified out of his mind, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

Heart racing, grimaced at the drops of blood in the tub and quickly unplugged it.

Shaking, he backed away from the porcelain tub and turned to the mirror, wiping the fog away. Angry red hand prints marked his shoulders. He turned his body, catching a glimpse of the scratch on his back, which grew worse.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ****It's been almost two months since I last posted! I've been incredibly busy-and didn't have many ideas. ****I don't have a beta for this chapter so please disregard any grammar or spelling errors. **

**I want to thank those who reviewed the last chapter and my good friend Narnia, who created a BEAUTIFUL artwork for this fic. I'll eventually post it to my profile so you guys can see her work.**

**Thanks for reading! See you next time.**


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